


One-Shot Collection

by ArtemisMoonsong



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 60,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisMoonsong/pseuds/ArtemisMoonsong
Summary: This is the place to find all the one-shots I've written (and continue to write) for the following couples: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin (male Dunmer), Vilkas x Linas (male Bosmer), Brynjolf x Cal (male Bosmer), Razum-dar x Pell Falil (male Bosmer), Neramo x Teddy Tyrane (male Breton) and Blackwall x Auren Lavellan (male elf).Both Casien and Cal already have full length stories (Cal's is about 50K words, Casien's is 200K+ and on-going), but the rest have yet to tell their full stories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: While some of the stories may be labeled "E", none are what some might consider "smut fics." I'm not a smut writer, so please don't anticipate finding that sort of content here! These ARE romantic one-shots, so sometimes the characters may become intimate, and if the intimacy is somewhat explicit, I will label it appropriately (each one-shot has its own rating and summary!)

I highly recommend you check out Casien's and Cal's stories before reading any of the drabbles, but you really don't have to! Not everyone is up for a super long read. So if you'd just like to dabble in some quick 1-2K word stories featuring elves and their boyfriends, then this is the place for you.

Below you'll find a little summary of each character; beware, mild spoilers ahead if you haven't read their stories:

Casien Yedlin   
Casien is 17 when his story begins; at present, he is 25 years old. He’s a Dunmer, a refugee from Solstheim. Shy, introverted, and in love with books, he struggles to fit in in his adopted city of Windhelm - and that’s not even taking into account the rampant bigotry within the city. When he is 19, he begins working at the Palace of the Kings. Here, he meets Ulfric Stormcloak, jarl of Eastmarch and leader of the Stormcloak rebels. Their love affair is quiet, hesitant, and slow to gain speed. But each finds solace in the other, as they meet to share stories, air grievances… and slowly fall in love.

_The one-shots all take place at various instances in Casien's life, essentially fleshing out parts of his story with Ulfric that haven't been told. At his youngest, he is 20; there are some that take place between Parts 2 and 3, and some that occur after Part 3._

 

 //

Linas  
Linas is a young Bosmer, approximately 25 years of age, who makes his living hunting and fishing throughout southeast Skyrim. He believes he has partial human blood, very likely Imperial, but he doesn’t know his birth father’s true ancestry, and only has his memories of what his mother once told him. 

Linas’ mother died while he and his sisters were still young. When he was about 14, he and his sisters were captured by bandits and held captive for many days with the apparent intention of eventually selling all three off into slavery. Linas was forced to watch his sisters endure the brunt of the bandits’ abuse. By the time he was freed, both his sisters had died, and from then on, he was alone.

Today, Linas is a quiet but intense young man, occasionally showing up in Riverwood and other small villages and towns to resupply and trade his own furs and meats for goods. He suffers from mild claustrophobia and fairly intense social anxiety, and hence rarely speaks, and only unless spoken to. When not in town, however, and able to relax, Linas reveals himself to be a thoughtful, generally contented person who has an artist’s innate love for and appreciation for the beauties of the natural world. 

His story is still on-going. He will, eventually, be pseudo-adopted by the Companions, and win the heart of the eldest of the wolf twins, Vilkas, but in truth, all the Companions will have a soft spot for their semi-wild new addition

(by [doomedteaparty.tumblr.com](doomedteaparty.tumblr.com))

 //

Calowen Bright-Hair  
Cal was a 28 year old half-Bosmer, half-Nord* thief whose relationship with the current High King of Skyrim ended abruptly, thus leaving him homeless. Somehow he found himself in Riften, working for the thieves guild. There he helped unravel a plot so thick it had each of his new friends in a vice-like grip, and that vice, of course, was firmly in the hands of one Maven Black-Briar.

* _so he claims_

Charming, irreverent, and perhaps a little too handsome for his own good, Cal probably won the heart of the theives guild guildmaster far sooner than he realized. Even so, winning Brynjolf’s heart is still not as impressive in his eyes as winning Vex’s friendship - something she denies even to this day.

 //

Auren Lavellan:  
When he was 22, Auren Lavellan’s beloved was killed - murdered - by human soldiers. Even since then, he has nursed an innate hatred towards all  _shem_. This hatred and fear was a concern of his keeper’s, and thus he was selected to join a small group of hunters from his clan to accompany the keeper’s second - who also happens to be his cousin - to observe the goings on in Haven, where templars and mages were set to meet and finally hammer out their differences.

The Conclave, as it was called, was, of course, a disaster. Auren found himself and his cousin to be the lone survivors. Kael was quickly dubbed the Herald of Andraste (despite the fact that he frequently and joyfully declared himself to be an atheist) due to the mark on his hand. Meanwhile, Auren grudgingly stayed with the fledgling Inquisition, solely for his cousin’s benefit, but he truly wanted nothing to do with any of the major players in what he considered to be a  _shem_ organization. At Kael’s suggestion, he did agree to join the scouts and fell under the “command” of Lead Scout Harding - not that he  _ever_  considered himself to be anyone’s subordinate, let alone a  _shem_ -loving surface dwarf.

Privately, Auren hated himself for developing feelings for the human commander of the Inquisition. Even worse, the human did not…  _could_  not return those feelings. Unbeknownst to him, however, he had caught the eye of one of the Inquisition’s newest volunteers: the veteran warden, Blackwall.

//

Pell Falil  
Pell is a half-Bosmer, half-Redguard foundling discovered by a Khajiit brother and sister in Elsweyr. They found the infant Pell in what appeared to be a fatal caravan accident. Pell’s birth parents and older siblings were unfortunately dead. Their only clue to his identity was his mother’s journal; from there they learned his name: Pell Falil.

R’zad, a Cathay-raht, and his sister, Aya, a Sencha, raised Pell as their own. Once he came of age, Pell chose to leave Elsweyr. For though he loved his parents and his homeland dearly, he wanted to learn more about his birth parents and who he really was. He took what little clues from the wreckage he still had and set out for Hammerfell.

He only made it as far as Khenarthi's Roost. That’s also where he met Razum-dar... one of the Eyes of the Queen.

 //

Teddy Tyrane  
Teddy has a rather unusual heritage. His mother is a half-Bosmer, half-Breton woman, and his father is a Redguard. Interestingly, he identifies as a Breton, for he was raised by his mother amongst her relatives, even though he grew up in Hammerfell. Nevertheless, Teddy still is proud of both his Redguard and his Bosmer heritage, and though he doesn't have much of a relationship with his father—it isn't a bad relationship; the man is simply a sea captain who rarely sees his son or daughter and is no longer involved with either of their mothers—he gets on very well with his sister, Narine ("Rini"), who also makes her living on the sea.

Teddy joined the mages' guild when he was about 21 and became a mage apprentice at the local mage academy. When he was 23, he was sent to assist the eccentric researcher, Neramo. Teddy found Neramo strange but charming, and at first brushed aside his own growing feelings for the older man as infatuation. When he realized those feelings were serious, he admitted them to Neramo. who, for the most part... brushed them aside. It took time for him to convince his mentor that he was sincere.

  
_Moodboard for Neramo and Teddy -- Neramo is in the upper left corner, Teddy in the bottom right. Teddy does actually have brown skin; it was just damned hard to find a brown-skinned person with the right hair._


	2. Casien 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few years or so post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: _Who knew parades could help bring the spiciness back into one’s love life?_

“A _parade_?”

My admittedly whiny tone of voice is probably the reason the jarl looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow at me. But seriously—me, marching (or, well, riding, more than likely) in a parade? This was definitely NOT what I’d had in mind when I’d organized this entire event.

“What if I refuse?” I asked, coming to perch on the edge of his desk.

“You cannot.”

“Why not? I’m a free man.” I poked his thigh with the toe of my boot. “I can do what I want.”

“Casien…”

I sighed, for I well knew that particular tone of his. Besides, I imagined he wanted to participate in such an event even less, but, well. The things we do for the good of Skyrim, I suppose.

We were here in Whiterun for the five year anniversary of the moot, and the crowning of the High King. That had been my idea, and I’m rather proud of it—an effort to bring the holds together again, to give us all a reason to mingle and celebrate. It’s a lot harder to plot and scheme against your neighbor when you’re forced to rub elbows with them over dinner, or so I’d imagined. The plan was to have all the holds meet in such a fashion every five years or so, with Whiterun serving as the obvious meeting point, seeing as how it was located right in the middle of the country.

I’d written to Olfina first, once I had my husband’s approval, of course. She was as pleased about the amount of business the celebration would bring to her city as I had imagined she would be. Elisif was another easy sell—oh, of course I didn’t write directly to Falk; it was much more prudent to let Elisif do the convincing for me. Next was Harrald Law-giver in Riften, then Lady Thaena in Winterhold. The others all sort of fell into place after that.

We’d already had several nights of feasting, dancing, and the like, the streets of Whiterun alive with folk from every hold. Each jarl had traveled with a contingent of people from his or her hold, a great number of soldiers marching along with them for protection. But apparently Olfina and Lady Thaena had put their heads together and come up with this notion of a parade to sort of finalize and put a cherry on top of the entire festivities.

The marching order had been itself something of an event. Folk were encouraged to gather the previous morning for breakfast and to offer their “vote,” so to speak. Several children were pulled from the audience and asked to act as judges. Then each hold was asked to cheer for their jarl as the sign holding the jarl’s name was held aloft. The loudest cheers earned a spot closer to the front of the parade. Windhelm, as the seat of the High King, was naturally slated to appear last; therefore, those who earned the least amount of cheers didn’t feel so bad because that meant they were closer to the High King.

Politics. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at it all sometimes.

The day of the parade was upon us. The weather continued to cooperate, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, which I’m sure set some of the northern folk complaining, for they weren’t quite used to the southern heat. Each hold’s procession was preceded by performers from their contingent, including musicians, jugglers, and other sorts of entertainers. I’d heard Falkreath actually had a fire-breather, and was disappointed I wouldn’t get to see her.

“First you complain about having to participate at all,” rumbled the king, as we rode together, side-by-side. “Now you complain about what you can and cannot see.”

“Don’t be so mean,” I said, smiling and waving at the crowd as we passed. “I just think it would be fun to see a fire-breather.”

“Hail High King Ulfric!” someone shouted over the cheers of the crowd. My husband lifted a hand and nodded in the man’s direction.

“Wouldn’t you want to see a fire-breather?” I asked.

I pulled a shiny gold coin from the pouch tied to my saddle and tossed it out towards a particularly raucous section of the crowd. Then I pulled a few sweets from my own jacket pocket—we were dressed handsomely, of course, with neither one of us having had anything to do with the ensembles that had been laid out for each of us—and tossed them towards a group of small children.

“I am sure we could convince Dengeir to have her give a private performance,” he said.

I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t need a private performance. I just thought—

“Lord Casien!”

A group of young people about my age, perhaps a bit younger, two girls and a boy, made their way hesitantly up towards me. One of the girls smiled, blushed, and offered me a rose. This was somewhat pre-planned; the roses had been for sale in the market all morning, and participants were told they could give them to the spouses, children, or other persons important to the jarls as a token of good will. I, of course, hadn’t expected to receive any, seeing as how I was just a smaller than usual Dunmer who hadn’t even been born in this country—and then there was the grumpy bear of a husband riding alongside me, of course.

“Thank you,” I said, leaning down so I could take the rose. It had a little note tied around the stem, which I assumed was also meant to be part of the overall gesture. Probably wishes for my or the jarl’s health, that sort of thing.

She gave a little courtesy, and, after glancing at the jarl and smiling rather mischievously, slipped back into the crowd with her friends.

“I got a flower!” I said, turning to beam at my slightly amused-looking husband.

“I should have planted you a whole field of them, had I known they would bring you such delight,” he murmured.

I blushed and laughed, and, after pulling the note free and sticking it in my pocket to read later, threaded the rose into my horse’s braided mane.

//

Naturally, I forgot about the note until later that evening, when I finally shrugged out of the handsome jacket and felt the bit of parchment crinkle in its inner pocket.

I smiled and pulled it out, going to sit down absently on the bed as I read it.

“ _Dear Lord Casien_ ,” I read aloud. “ _For days, I have gazed at you from afar and admired your_ … Blessed Azura!”

I looked up from the note into the amused eyes of my husband, who sat across the room, once again at his desk.

“This is some kind of confession note!” I said, my cheeks burning as I continued to read it. “She says I have ‘large, beautiful eyes’ and ‘lovely, full lips’ and she wants to—Nine! Doesn’t she know I’m married?!”

“She appears to have a very discerning eye,” murmured the king. I shot him an annoyed look before glancing back down at the letter.

“By the Three!” I stood up, gawking down at the piece of parchment in my hands. “It wasn’t the girl at all! It’s signed ‘Erik Twice-born!’

“…What?”

I looked up from my letter and into the piercing blue eyes of my husband—who was now definitely more interested in my little love note than in whatever it was he’d been writing.

I shrugged, and turned the letter to show him.

“It says so right here. It must have been the young man who was with her. I guess he wasn’t brave enough to give it to me himself.” I sat back on the bed, a rather warm, contented feeling washing over me. “He was rather handsome, too, wasn’t he?”

“Oh?”

I glanced up again, doing a double take, as my husband had now risen to his feet.

“You found him handsome, did you?” he asked.

“Is that bad?” I asked, and I confess I was teasing him, anxious to see if he would really and truly express his jealousy and possessiveness towards me.

He began to slowly undo the buttons of his own jacket while continuing to gaze across the room at me.

“Perhaps I should remind you that you are, in fact, married to me,” he said, his voice lowering to a warning rumble that I would have found unnerving—if it didn’t also instantly turn me on.

“Now, now,” I said, grinning and jumping hastily back to my feet. “No need to go all _High King of Skyrim_ on me.”

He tossed the jacket aside and began to walk slowly towards me, his eyes still never leaving my own.

“Your indifference wounds me,” he said. “I think, Lord Casien, you need to be taught a lesson.”

“A _lesson_!” I nearly choked on the word, equal parts indignant and aroused, for he was very clearly intent on catching me and giving me this so-called lesson, and in all honesty, I don’t think I’d ever wanted anything more in my life.

So, naturally, I took off.

He lunged; I skirted past him, laughing and running around the bed. He gave chase, but I dove onto to the bed, crawling quickly over it and bouncing off the other side. But he was fast, for all he was a grumpy old bear. I sprinted across the room, and he cornered me there, looming over me, eyes already darkening with desire. He made a sudden grab for me, and I yelped, trying not to laugh. I was a little indignant when he promptly gripped me under one hip and tossed me over his shoulder, though the fact that he rested his free hand on my bottom to help steady me was enough of a distraction, making me more eager than offended.

Then onto the bed I was naturally tossed. I kept the game going, smirking and trying to back away from him, but he caught me by the knees and pulled me slowly back towards him. I kept trying to squirm away as he climbed over me, and even tried to pretend to push him away. But, well, sliding my hands over his chest pretty much drained all resolve from me. Before I knew it, my fingers had gripped the soft, linen fabric of his tunic and pulled him closer to me. He readily obliged me, covering my mouth with his own and pressing himself against me.

Logically, I’m not quite sure how you can be married to the same person and still enjoy being with them every single time you’re together. But physically, mentally, emotionally… I never, ever tired of making love, not if it was with him, and it always would be with him. And nothing made me happier than knowing that, deep inside me—knowing that he would always be mine, and I would always be his.

Afterward, I was left more than unusually breathless, my heart still pounding rapidly in my chest, my cheeks still very warm and red, my body… well. I wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, that was for certain.

“That was… amazing,” I said, a silly smile still stretched onto my face.

A low, contented hum was all I received for an answer. I turned my head and smiled at my husband’s flushed, sleepy face.

“I guess I learned my lesson,” I said, turning slowly sideways and curling up next to him. I cuddled up as close as I could, resting my palm on his bare chest and pressing lazy kisses against his shoulder.

“What was that name again?”

“What name…?” I asked, sighing and rubbing my cheek against his skin.

“The name on the letter.”

I stopped.

“Ulfric,” I said, lifting my head and frowning down at him. “NO.”

He gazed up at me, a seemingly placid look in his eyes.

“Where is the letter,” he said.

“No.”

“Casien. I am your husband and your king. I demand that you—

“NO.”

To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what ever became of young Erik Twice-born. I never did tell my husband about the postscript at the bottom of the letter requesting me to meet him in a backroom of the Bannered Mare that very evening. I sometimes wonder at the sheer arrogance a person would have to have to send such a letter, and to actually proceed to the intended destination, in full confidence that the object of his affection would throw caution to the wind and throw himself into a pair of arms he had never technically met.

All I do know is that, once my husband finally did fall asleep, I crawled back out of bed, found the letter, and tossed it into the dying flames of the fire.

Better safe than sorry. Poor Erik Twice-born probably never knew the favor I had done him.


	3. BLANK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: Six months or so post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: _In book 3, it was briefly mentioned that a deadly blizzard descended over the city the winter after the moot. It ended up trapping many people in their homes for days, and the Gray Quarter citizens were most severely affected. Casien brought their situation to Ulfric’s attention, and Ulfric immediately fired the official responsible for mishandling the disaster._
> 
> __

He awoke to a blinding flash of light, followed by the low rumbling sound of thunder.

He lay on his back for a moment, listening to the snow patting furiously against the windows. More lightning then, more distant crackling of thunder. Then bodily awareness began to set in—he was cold. He was never cold.

The snow had been falling since noon, and at such a heady pace. The drop in temperature had been concerning, or so said those who kept track of such things and informed him of the many forthcoming dangers.  _The city had best prepare, my lord_ , they’d said. Criers were sent out, warnings posted, food distributed. It had been a busy day and a busy evening.

“I’m worried,” his young husband had whispered tentatively as they held one another in bed, only a few hours ago.

“About what?” he had murmured, kissing the tip of his nose and relishing the way his face scrunched up in irritation.

“About my people.”

 _The Gray Quarter_. He’d learned to wince at the name, to question when it had come to be termed as such. Guilt ate at the expression on his husband’s lovely face, creasing his forehead and drawing down the corners of his mouth. He’d accepted a cup of tea, brewed from herbs given to them by his eldest niece’s pretty new wife. It had helped.

Ulfric turned his head to gaze at the small lump beside him in the bed. All of the bed covers had been pulled away, creating a rather substantial pile of furs. Meanwhile, he lay nearly nude in his own bed, with nothing between his bare skin and the freezing cold air, ushered in by the blizzard outside, and scarcely kept at bay by the dying fire.

As quietly as possible, he eased himself out of bed so that he might stoke the fire back to life. Lightning cracked the sky outside the window once again, thunder rumbling much sooner than it had last time. He knelt before the fire, adding another log, positioning it carefully. Then, as quietly as possible, he returned to bed.

He mustn’t wake him—his “little roebuck” (who had begun to roll his eyes at the nickname, which naturally induced him to use it ever more frequently). Fierce storms frightened him, and it had been hard enough for him to fall asleep. And if he woke, he would be cold as well as frightened, and then his mind would drift towards the uncertain fate of the others again— _his people_.

Ulfric’s great shame was that there was only one so-called  _dark elf_ who could truly move his heart. In fairness, he felt no proclivities to favor one group over another; he attended to the issues brought before him one after the other: tax burdens, crime-ridden neighborhoods, unemployment. He signed declarations and new procedures into law, directed Jorleif or Galmar to see to this or that which had thus far been naturally beneath his notice. A jarl’s time was not his own, yet it was strangely no one’s, save the gods’ perhaps.

He could move quietly when he so chose. He did so now, carefully sliding under the pile of blankets and furs—then, foolishly, without thought, slipping an arm around a soft waist and absently tugging the smaller form against his own.

Cold—he was cold—his skin like ice, no doubt, and the person cuddled next to him gave an almost violent shudder. The tiniest sound of distress escaped from his throat, arms already curled up to his chest curling in even closer. Ulfric cursed himself for a fool, even as he kindly breathed warm air against his husband’s neck and shoulders. After a moment, he pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the body beside his own gradually relax again. Soft, fragrant hair tickled his nose. He stroked his thumb gently against a belly that evened out again with long, gentle breaths.

 _Gods grant me the strength to deserve him_. It had been a foul trick, he’d once thought—that they should cause his heart to be turned by such a small, innocent person. He would ruin this young man—corrupt him, destroy him, rend his heart in two should he have the absurd honor of holding it some day in his hands. And yet the opposite had happened. The war ended. His heart and arms were full.

He made an offer, and was accepted.

It shouldn’t have happened, but it had. And now he lay awake at night in his own bed, cold, hugging a small, warm body, and praying he had the wisdom to be the king—the man—his husband clearly believed him to be.

He was to be constantly measured—and it had only just begun.


	4. Casien 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: A few months to a year post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: _About a year and a half previous to this, Casien suffered a bite from a wolf which became severely infected. His life was saved by Professor Marence at the College of Winterhold, but as a result of the infection, he was left with a lingering susceptibility to infectious diseases. Now, as illness sweeps the Palace of the Kings, he knows he should heed everyone's warnings and try to quarantine himself. But does he _ever_ listen to reason?_

I guess there’s a reason everyone absolutely loses their minds the second I show the first signs of illness.

This one came on more slowly than usual. All of the Stone-Fist girls got it first, which was a horror for Una, who was terrified of passing it on to the baby, so he had to be given over to Hasan’s parents for a few days. By some fortunate stroke of luck, Lia and Hellina both failed to become ill, and I don’t think there are two better, kinder, more efficient nurses in all of Tamriel. Hasan, too, managed to avoid it. Galmar and the jarl were out of town, touring several of the forts to the west before winter finally settled in and blanketed all of Eastmarch.

I, of course, was put under immediate quarantine. I told them they were all being ridiculous, but I obeyed nonetheless, and dutifully remained in our apartment until I became so stir crazy I thought my insides were going to start leaking out of my eyeballs. I started sneaking out in the middle of the night, ignoring the long-suffering looks from the guard stationed at the door. I didn’t go anywhere in particular, just roamed the palace, went down to the kitchens to grab a snack, wandered into the stables to say hello to my horse. I was careful not to speak to anyone or even get close to anyone, for several of the staff had come down with it as well, though so far none of the cases were serious, and most were back on their feet in a day or two.

But I guess it was inevitable.

When I woke up one morning feeling overly tired, more tired than usual, with a faint, twisting pain in my gut, I didn’t want to believe it. I ignored the nausea that rose up within me when breakfast appeared and forced myself to stuff a piece of toast down my throat. Five minutes later, it came back up. I think the servant must have been inside cleaning, because apparently the sound of my retching did not go unheard. Within minutes, Lia had marched into my room and ordered me to bed. A half an hour later, the healer had arrived.

It was bad. By noon, I was shivering with fever, and my memory is spotty after that. That night wasn’t the worst, actually; it was the following night. Apparently, I was completely out of my head, babbling nonsense, sometimes crying, calling for my husband. In the morning, I became deathly still, my chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath. My poor family, bless them, really began to think they would have to tell the jarl that they had lost me.

Fortunately, they didn’t. I wasn’t conscious when he returned home, but I was on the mend. When I awoke, very late in the afternoon, it was to the sensation of him lying very close beside me, fully-clothed, an arm draped loosely around my waist. I turned my head to look at him. His eyes fluttered somewhat beneath his eyelids, his mouth half-parted. He looked so peaceful. And, as always, I thought him the handsomest man in the world.

I shifted slightly, sliding more deeply into his embrace until our faces were close. I closed my eyes and smooshed my much smaller nose briefly against his own, smiling a little. Then I kissed him, long and lingering, just pressing my lips against his, as if I could press my apology deep down into his heart, and he would wake with forgiveness in his eyes.

I wasn’t to be so lucky, of course. His eyes did flutter open, and he breathed in quickly, deeply, clearly relieved to see me awake. He rubbed his face and sat up a little, his hand now coming to cup my own, fingers stroking my cheek.

“You’re angry with me,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and his jaw clenched slightly beneath his beard. I smiled, for I really was very sorry.

“Don’t be,” I said, reaching up to stroke my own fingers over his cheek. “Please?”

“Casien…”

“Just kiss me,” I said. “You’ll be able to tell how sorry I am. And you won’t be so sad anymore.”

He gazed down at me for a moment longer before finally sighing.

“I really am sorry,” I insisted, thinking that if I perhaps pushed my case I might win him over. “I was just so bored and lonely, being cooped up in here all myself. I honestly did my best not to come into contact with anyone else. But I couldn’t help it.”

“You could,” he said. “You could have stayed  _here_. As you were instructed to do.”

I huffed.

“Maybe if you hadn’t left for so long I wouldn’t have been so lonely.”

The look he gave me was one of initial disbelief, to be instantly replaced by frustrated annoyance. Which, I’ll admit, was fully deserved.

“Sorry!” I said quickly. “I’m not blaming you. Really I’m not. Well, maybe a little.”

I fluttered a hesitant smile up at him.

He gazed back at me, seemingly unmoved.

“You are teasing me,” he finally said.

I beamed.

“Maybe I’m still just trying to get you to kiss me,” I said. “And I’m just really bad at it.”

But apparently not as bad as I thought, for he finally gave in and obliged me. I know he was still angry with me—an anger born from fear—but I couldn’t tell from his gentle, lingering kiss, his lips moving to lazily nibble down my jawline. I smiled, even let myself laugh when his beard scratched and tickled my skin. I knew it would be a long time before he forgave me, so I supposed I might as well let myself enjoy this while I could.


	5. Cal 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Brynjolf x Cal
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A month or two into the relationship. It should be noted that at the end of his story, an assassin's arrow leaves Cal almost totally paralyzed. He recovers, for the most part, though his left hand and foot remained partially paralyzed. This occurs well before he's even able to stand again.
> 
> Summary: _Cal and Brynjolf both try to come to terms with the result of Cal's illness._

“Did you do this to yourself?”

My lover’s eyes were warm with surprise and concern, his fingers holding my chin gently.

But my mood of late had gone the way of my legs: not quite useless, but more of a nuisance than anything. I jerked my chin out of his hand.

“No,” I said sarcastically. “Delvin did it. We schedule little shaving sessions together when you’re gone. I guess I forgot to tell you!”

His brows came together.

“You did this while shaving?”

He hesitated before reaching up to run his thumb gently over the wound, well aware, I’m sure, of how my jaw clenched at his touch. The cut was deeper than the usual nick. It had bled pretty profusely, too. I’d joked with Vex about trying to kill myself but missing the mark. She hadn’t been amused.

“What do you expect?” I snapped, pushing his hand away. “I can barely hold the fucking mirror. It’s a godsdamned miracle I made it into the tub without killing myself.”

He looked doubly startled to hear that I’d bathed on my own, but honestly, what had he expected? For me to lie here in my own filth for three days while he was off doing gods knew what? Not that I would have ever asked him to stay, not for my sake. He was the leader of the guild, for crying out loud. And I sure as hell didn’t want anyone’s pity—especially his.

His eyes searched mine. I blinked, and swallowed, and suddenly felt all these  _emotions_  rising up inside me, and it’s not like I was about to cry or anything, but I sure as hell was tired of living like this.

“Cal…” he began, but I didn’t let him finish.

“What if it never happens,” I said, the bitter words coming out of me in a rush. “What if you’re right. What if I never walk again?”

He was quiet for a moment, and I could tell he was weighing his words carefully.

“Then we’ll help you,” he finally said.

“What if I don’t want your help?” More words coming, and I knew they were going to be bad, but well, maybe they’d been a long time coming. “What if I hate living like this? What if I sometimes wish I’d never gone to search for you? Or had never actually met you? And sure, you know, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now, but counterpoint, I’d be able to walk, and use my hands, and shave, and hunt, and hold a spoon properly, and  _use the fucking toilet on my own_ —

He reached up quickly, resting his palm gently against my cheek and causing my tirade to come to a stuttering stop. He blinked, and I could see there were tears in his eyes, and I suddenly realized that he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe that I’d really hurt him with what I’d said, but I think maybe I hadn’t. I think maybe he just knew I was fucking miserable, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“…I’m sorry,” I said after a moment, my voice a bit higher than normal. I tried for a hopeful little smile. “I think I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“That’s okay,” he said, his thumb stroking my cheek now. “Cal?”  
  
“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Ah. There they were again, those three little words. I swallowed, and tried to bite back the smile I felt helplessly curling onto my face. He shifted his hand, stroking the back of my neck for a moment before pulling my face gently closer to his. I kissed him back, but then almost as soon as we’d begun I broke apart and wrapped my arms around him instead, burying my face into his neck. 

“I missed you,” I finally mumbled against his skin.

“Likewise. I’ll try not to be gone so long next time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I teased, and then I had to sniff a little, because, well, you know.

I pulled back, our eyes meeting again. His own were clear once more, and his mouth had curved into a little smile.

“When have you ever known me to break a promise?” he teased back. “But I’ll have one from you as well, lad, if you don’t mind: no more shaving on your own.” He paused, then added warmly. “At least not until you can hold both mirror and razor properly.”

I blinked at him. It was the first time that he’d expressed any hope of my recovering further.

I swallowed, and nodded.

“You got it, boss,” I said, smiling. “It’s a promise.”


	6. Linas 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Vilkas x Linas
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: Pre-relationship
> 
> Summary: _Vilkas is reluctant to admit his feelings towards Linas. Luckily, Farkas already did it for him._

“You’re mad at me.”

Vilkas stopped sharpening the blade of his sword just long enough to glance up and meet his brother’s gaze. Farkas stared back at him with those big, stupid eyes of his (that weren’t stupid at all, curse him), clearly waiting for a response.

Vilkas didn’t deign to give him one, instead returning to his blade and whetstone.

“Somebody had to say it,” Farkas continued. “He needed to know.”

“Why?” Vilkas snapped back.

“He just did.”

And that was that, apparently.  _He just did_. Vilkas snorted under his breath. His brother was no fool, but it was no wonder people often thought he was. He rarely bothered to explain his own thoughts and opinions, which left most believing he hadn’t put much thought into them in the first place. But they were wrong.

“He likes you, too,” Farkas said.

Vilkas paused again, his hand squeezing the whetstone. He forced his jaw to unclench. Farkas was generally immune to the effects of his wild temper, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try to control it nonetheless.

“You don’t know that,” he said.

Agony of agonies—he could feel himself blushing. He knew Farkas could tell, too, could probably sense the spike in blood pressure, the sudden, rapid beating of his heart. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think of  _him_ —his  _pet_ , as Kodlak sometimes called him. And how the others would laugh and taunt them both when he did. Now his blood burned for a new reason, his jaw clenching again. If they only knew how Linas had suffered, continued to suffer, in many ways.

“I do know it,” said Farkas. “I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t. And you’d have been miserable until I  _did_  say something. And so would he. You need each other.”

“We  _need_  each other?”

Vilkas almost spit the words out, he found them so ludicrous. He didn’t  _NEED_ anything; he certainly didn’t need any _one_. And neither did Linas. He had lived most of his life alone, hadn’t he? Vilkas wasn’t entirely certain why he continued to reside in Jorrvaskr at all, so uncomfortable did the place make him.  _The walls are like the arms of a demon_ , he’d once told him.  _Squeezing me until I can’t breathe._

Farkas sighed.

“You’ll see,” he said.

//

They returned to town the following evening. Jorrvaskr was strangely quiet. There was some sort of festival going on in town, so those who weren’t out on a job were probably enjoying the festivities. The clanging sound of steel-against-steel could be heard from the sparyard, so someone must have been home. But the main hall was empty.

Vilkas went downstairs to give his official report to Kodlak. The old man wasn’t in, but he wrote down his summary in the book that recorded all their assignments: the threat had been dealt with, and they had been paid the expected amount. The client promised to call on them again, should she or her family ever require their assistance.

Farkas had already wandered off, leaving Vilkas to himself. He made his way back to his room, already planning ahead the rest of his quiet evening: stripping off his armor, pouring himself a hot bath, and relaxing with a freshly opened bottle of Stros M’kai rum. If he stopped and grabbed something from the downstairs table he could have an early supper, too.

His room was neater than usual. Tilma must have been by while he was gone; she usually cleaned their rooms from top to bottom while they were out on assignment. He tossed his saddlebags aside and began to unbuckle the bracer from his left arm when—he spotted the note sitting on his bed.

He frowned and moved forward, reaching down to pick it up.

The handwriting was awkward, the letters large and ill-shaped. But the message itself was simple:

_I lik you too._

Abruptly, Vilkas felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. He stared at the words on the note, imagining the long, slender fingers gripping the pen that wrote them, probably a bit too tightly. He imagined the furrowed brow, lips pressing together in concentration, as the note’s author carefully scratched out each letter.

“Did I spell everything correctly?”

He whirled around, the note still in his hand. Linas was standing in the doorway, hands hanging limply at his side, his expression as calm as usual.

Vilkas swallowed, and smiled.

“Close enough,” he said.

Linas looked troubled, but said nothing.

“Do you…” Vilkas paused, took a deep breath. He didn’t want to have to ask this, but—he knew that he had to. Linas had led an unusual life; there was so much about human interaction he was still trying to understand.

“Do you know what this means?” he continued. “I mean—what it truly means. When… a person says they like someone, they—

But the words got caught in his throat. Linas suddenly closed the distance between them, grabbed the front collar of his gambeson, and pulled him down. As forceful as the action was, the kiss itself was almost soft, lips pressing insistently against his own but never opening. His own parted slightly once they were released, and he gazed down in shock at the younger man.

“Yes,” said Linas. “I know what it means.”


	7. Casien 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A week into a very new relationship. Baby Casien (aged 20) alert.
> 
> Summary: _A week after the jarl of Windhelm arrived at Winterhold to propose marriage, Casien is trying to figure out where he fits in as king's future consort._

It was a strange feeling: being so important to someone.

It had been five days since we’d first left Winterhold. Six days since I’d been reunited with my lover—and since he had asked me to marry him.

The soldiers who traveled with him eyed me with curiosity, but they never spoke to me, except to call me ‘my lord’ when they wished to offer me a piece of food or help me with my tent, and even then they seemed to wince, as if those two words together, coupled with my face, didn’t quite work.

I would catch Galmar occasionally looking at me. He’d just sigh and shake his head, as if he, too, couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The king was different. He rode beside me, spoke to me often, encouraged me to talk to him as well, to tell him of the past six months, of my friends, my teachers, the things I had learned and done. I was surprised to find myself shy around him at first—after all, our friendship had sprung up over brief interludes within each of our daily lives: an hour here or there, both of us still too unsure of our feelings to admit them to one another. We spent one night together, and then we had parted. And now I almost felt as if the man beside me was someone I didn’t really know at all.

Only this wasn’t true. Of course, I knew him. I loved him. My heart swelled when I looked at him; I felt my skin flush and the breath catch in my lungs. He smiled when our eyes met. He never teased me for my blushing or my shyness.

At night—I was nervous, knowing what was to come. I felt crippled by my own inexperience, filled with doubt over whether I was capable of satisfying him, if he would become disenchanted with me, if my ineptitude would become a sore point between us. We would eat dinner together in our tent, and sometimes my hands would begin to shake, and I feared he would notice and be offended—or, worse, think that he frightened me.

I wasn’t frightened of him. I wanted him more than I ever imagined I could want one person. I longed for him to touch me, to cover my body with his own. But I was  _so nervous_. Afterward, I wanted to ask him,  _was it good? Am I all right?_  But I didn’t. Instead, he held me, and I  _let_  him hold me, and when I would feel tears coming to my eyes, I couldn’t tell if they were bad or good tears.

 _Please don’t leave me_ , I thought, as I lay quietly beside him, listening to him breathe.  _Please don’t ever leave me_. I would do anything to keep him by my side. I vowed to become the best lover he had ever had. I would make it so that he would never tire of me, never find me lacking.

My heart crumpled in my chest. Who was I fooling? I was just turned 20, still a boy in the eyes of many, sheltered from the evils of war and hatred and death. I had had one lover before meeting the king. I had no way of knowing if anything I was doing was right at all.

“Why?” I whispered to him in the darkness. “Why do you love me?  _Me_?”

I wiped the tears absently from my eyes and, after hesitating for a moment, reached out to gently brush my fingertips over his cheek and beard. I had no business being with such a man. Yet I knew that there was nothing in the world that could convince me to leave him now.

As usual, the following morning my anxious, depressive thoughts had cleared. I chatted with my lover as we broke camp, and even teased a few words out of Galmar. When it came time to mount my horse, the king came forward to assist me as usual. But before he helped me vault into the saddle, he leaned over, his face very close to mine, lips brushing against my ear, and murmured: “Because you are perfect.”

I started, and looked up at him. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, a faint smile coming to his face.

Abruptly, I felt my own face bloom hot.  _He had heard me last night_. I turned away from him, and reached clumsily for the saddle. He held his hands out as usual, and I allowed him to lift me up. I saw some of the soldiers chuckling; they must have noticed my bright red face. I looked back down at the king, tried to think of something to say.

He smiled, took my hand, and kissed it, before turning and mounting his own horse.

I stopped questioning myself after that. Oh, I don’t mean I suddenly became the most confident lover in Tamriel. But I was no longer nervous come nightfall, and I no longer doubted my ability to please him. I simply loved him, body and soul, as he loved me. I knew that I could only get  _better_ , not worse, in this and in all things. Because love is patient. Love is kind. Love makes you see the best in someone.

Even when they can’t fully see it in themselves.


	8. Linas 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Vilkas x Linas
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: Pre-relationship
> 
> Summary: _The Companions all think Linas is a fool, despite their great regard for him. They think he doesn't know about Vilkas' feelings for him._
> 
> _Maybe he just doesn't see the point in telling others what he already sees, hears, and knows._

“Never stop smiling?” Njada wrinkled her nose, though I could just see the expression from the corner of my eyes. “What kind of advice is that?”

“And he hardly follows it,” said Aela, sounding amused. “His mother must have been pulling his leg. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a smile cross that surly face of his.”

“I have,” said Farkas.

I felt more than saw the others look at him. He shrugged.

“Maybe you all just don’t spend enough time with him.”

“And maybe we shouldn’t talk about him as if he isn’t here,” said Vilkas, his voice a sharp warning.

I ignored them, as usual. I busied my hands, eyes, and mind by fletching arrows, a task I was used to doing in the early evening hours of the day. I didn’t need to hunt as often as I used to, now that I called Jorrvaskr my home. But life was forever shifting, and I knew that it was a fool who let himself get too comfortable. Besides, the action calmed me, made it easier to bear the pressing in of the surrounding four walls and the chattering of so many familiar voices.

“Come on, then!” Aela’s voice rose above the others, laughing. They were all into their cups at this hour, as they often were. “Someone tell a joke. Let’s make our new little brother smile!”

“I’ve got one,” said Skjor.

“No!” cried Ria. “Your jokes are always so dirty. Linas doesn’t want to hear a dirty joke.”

“And why shouldn’t he?” asked Aela, grinning. “Is our pup still so innocent? Perhaps it’s our job to tweak those little red ears of his.”

“Leave him be!” snapped Vilkas, a hush falling over the others, though a few chuckles still rippled through.

He stood up, and made his way over towards me, pausing before slowly crouching down, waiting until I looked up from my work and met his eyes.

“It’s late,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to go to bed.”

He was giving me a way out. Some of the others snickered. I knew what they were thinking. They thought he had implied something sexual. They all seemed to think that something sexual was happening between the two of us.

After a moment, I nodded. I paused to gather my supplies, tying everything up in a large burlap before storing it off to the side of the stone fireplace I’d been sitting next to. I stood up then, and met Vilkas’ eyes again.

“Good night, little brother!” said Aela. “Sleep well.”

“Good night!” the others called.

“10 septums Vilkas doesn’t return,” I heard Torvar mutter, and several of the others started laughing.

I simply turned and made my way downstairs. I heard Vilkas walking behind me, keeping his usual distance. I appreciated his thoughtfulness and his caution. But sometimes, I wouldn’t have minded if he would stand or walk a little bit closer beside me.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I said, once we were in my room. He was hovering in my doorway, looking strangely anxious and uncertain. But my words seemed to surprise him.

“Oh,” he said.

I frowned.

“You’re my friend,” I said, trying to explain. I felt sudden frustration that I even had to explain myself. “Farkas, too. I don’t mind being around you. I don’t mind being around any of you,” I admitted.

“You don’t seem relaxed around the others,” he said.

“Feeling relaxed and not feeling afraid are not the same thing.” I frowned again. “Why are you standing there? Come in, or go.”

He hesitated for a moment before finally entering, looking around before gingerly taking a seat on a nearby chair.

“You aren’t tired?” he asked.

“I am. A little. But I assume you followed me here because you wish to talk. I am not opposed to talking.”

A brief smile flitted across his face. It was a very handsome face—I’d noticed as much the first time I’d seen him. But it was a kind face, too, surprising for a mercenary. Or rather, I had been surprised by that kindness, until I had begun to more fully understand just who and what the Companions were.

“Do you truly think of me as your friend?” he asked.

I looked at him, wondering at the happiness he seemed to be displaying.

“Yes,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I?”

He seemed to take a quick breath and look down, another little smile on his face. He cleared his throat, and for some reason, a faint flush appeared to creep just beneath his short, scruffy beard.

“No reason,” he said, still unable to meet my eyes. “Only—it makes me happy to know it. To have your friendship.”

 _I think there are many ways I could make you happy_ , I thought, for I was no fool, for all the others teased me about my innocence. But I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t know if I would ever be ready for that.

“It makes me happy, too,” I said instead.

He looked at me again and smiled.

Perhaps, I thought, his smile alone would have to be enough.

At least for now.


	9. Cal 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Brynjolf x Cal
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: Several years into the relationship
> 
> Summary: _Brynjolf and Cal are at the tail end of a job, trying to find their way out of some Nord ruins, hired thugs hot on their tail. A difficult situation forces Cal to reveal something painful about his past._

The underground river stretched before us, dark, unfathomable waters refusing to reflect the light of the torches we held in our hands. The far shore may as well have been on another planet, so far as I was concerned. Who knew what was lurking down below? I, for one, intended to come out of this with all my parts intact.

“Sorry, lad,” said my companion, shaking his head. “I don’t see any other way around it.” He smiled and gave my shoulder a friendly pat. “You’re just going to have to get your toes wet, I’m afraid.”

I swallowed and tried to take a deep breath. Really, I could do this. I was resolved. I was a grown ass man, after all.

“You’re sure about that?” I said, doing an immediate about face on said resolve—classic Cal, really. “A rope, or an alternate route, or— _some_ thing?”

He gave me a queer look.

“Can you not swim?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Uh, no? I mean, I  _could_  if I truly wanted to, but, you know. Never learned.”

This seemed to surprise him.

“But your very first mission with Vex—the two of you swam to the far side of the Yorgrim River, if I recall correctly. At least that’s what Vex relayed to me in her mission report.”

“If by ‘swim’ you mean ‘kicked my freezing cold legs while Vex dragged me behind her like a dog with a giant stick,’ then sure. And that was totally involuntary. She literally grabbed me and threw me into the river.”

He gave a soft, amused little snort. “Sounds like our little Vex.”

 _Our little Vex_. I don’t know why it still annoyed me that he called her that.

I let out a frustrated little breath.

“There has to be something,” I muttered. “Maybe we could tie a bit of twine to an arrow. I could shoot it across and—

“Cal,” he interrupted, the queer look on his face starting to become a bit concerned. “That won’t work. You know it won’t.” He frowned. “I’ll not let you drown, lad. You needn’t worry about that.”

“I’m not worried about drowning,” I said, except, you know, I totally was.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked, already bending to remove his boots. “If we linger here too long, those bandits will—

“I’M AFRAID!” I finally snapped.

I couldn’t seem to hold the words inside me anymore. They just sort of burst out of me, like a sneeze, or like the breath in your lungs when you get sucker punched to the gut. Which is about how I felt right then, with my lover blinking back at me is if I’d just admitted to having a lizard-fucking fetish.

Well, that’s a bit harsh. And not that there’s anything wrong with fucking lizards. Not that I’ve tried it, but I’m sure they’re lovely. I just… didn’t like the way he was looking at me.

“Afraid?” he said, and damn it, the pity in his eyes was getting stronger by the second. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, something did happen,” I said, my fingers tapping restlessly at my sides. I gave a frustrated little huff. “I guess that means it’s story time, doesn’t it.”

I couldn’t look at him; I kept my gaze locked to the swiftly moving inky depths below. 

“Lovely cold day up near Winterhold. Lake frozen over. Mother falls in first, step-father goes in after her. And silly little me, too afraid to run back for help, just sat there, waiting for them to come back. But, you know.” I shrugged. “They didn’t.”

He was silent for a moment after I’d finished. Finally, he set his boots and pack down and padded towards me. His hands came to rest on my upper arms, squeezing slightly. I looked at him, my head jerking back up so that my eyes could meet his.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He brought one hand up to curl slightly around my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw. “Truly I am. But we have to do this, Cal.” He leaned in, narrowing his eyes a little. “I won’t let you drown. I’ll have hold of you the whole time.”

I stared back at him, my heart already starting to beat a bit faster. I rather knew he was right. We had to do this. There was no other way across, and we probably wouldn’t survive another encounter with those bandits.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

I didn’t even hesitate before nodding.

A tiny smile quirked onto his face.

“Good lad.” He gave my cheek a fond little pat before releasing me. “Now, boots off. Tie them together like so and loop them over your shoulder.”

I did as requested, removing both my boots as well as the metal brace that helped stabilize my left foot. Once we were both ready to enter the water, he took my hand and pulled me gently forward. I thought my heart was going to stop once I felt the icy cold water lap at my ankles. But I didn’t stop. I kept going. Soon it was up to my knees, then my thighs, my hips. I swallowed.

“I can’t—

“You can,” he interrupted. “Close your eyes, if you need to. And remember: I’ve got hold of you, and I’m not going to let go.”

It was similar to the time with Vex. He told me to kick my feet, so I kicked. Only it was easier this time, of course, without my heavy boots dragging my legs down. It took us some time to cross, but soon I was feeling earth beneath my feet again, and I scrambled forward, probably half-dragging my lover down with me. We made our way to shore, and I flopped down as soon as dry land was available, and leaned back on my hands, panting from the exertion.

He flopped down beside me, tossing his wet boots down as well.

“You did well,” he said.

I could tell he was watching me. I gave a sad little amused huff under my breath.

“Thanks,” I said. “I totally just ruined our love life, didn’t I. I’m only about 1000 times less sexier now.”

“Cal,” he said, his voice a gentle chastisement.

“No, no, it’s all right. I understand.” I feigned a heavy sigh. “I’ll have to work twice as hard to make you want to—

The sudden cold hand on my cheek turned my head towards his, and a pair of lips were soon pressed insistently against my own. I closed my eyes, giving a sharp intake at first, but then I relaxed. I felt him shift closer, deepening the kiss, and I even gave a little moan. He pulled away with one more gentle little nip, his warm eyes searching mine. I smiled.

“Hm,” I said. “Point well made.”

He smirked. “Good.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Now let’s finish getting out of here so we can get back home that much quicker.”

I smiled, and gladly took his hand.


	10. Cal 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Brynjolf x Cal
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A year or so into the relationship
> 
> Summary: _Watching Brynjolf interact with a street urchin gives Cal a bit of the warm fuzzies._

“It’s all right,” said Brynjolf. “He’s a friend. He won’t hurt you.”

The child paused to give me an uncertain look before finally coming forward. He was very young, no older than five or six. Human, with hair of indeterminate color, as it was near midnight, and we were near the back of one of the less reputable alleys. And the kid was pretty much covered in dirt from the top of his head to the tips of his toeless boots.

I watched as Brynjolf crouched down and asked him a few questions: had the men he described left the warehouse yet? Which direction did they go? Did they look angry or pleased? Once the child answered to his satisfaction, he pulled a few copper septims from his inside pocket and plunked them in one little outstretched hand. The boy quickly pocketed the coins, but then just as quickly held his hand out again, and fixed my lover with such a forlorn face it even started to pull at  _my_  heartstrings just a tad.

Brynjolf laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. He pulled out what looked like a wrapped piece of taffy and offered it to him; this seemed to do the trick. The boy grinned and popped the taffy in his mouth before finally running off.

I must have had something of a smirk on my face, for when Brynjolf straightened, he smiled back, cocking one eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, shrugging.

He gave me a look, hands coming to rest on his hips.

I couldn’t help it; a little snort escaped me, and then I was laughing, albeit quietly, and trying really hard to smoother it into the crook of my elbow.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, having to wipe at my eyes a little. “but that was just adorable.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me again.

“Oh?”

“Yes! You, and that… scruffy little urchin straight out of some sad sap sentimental novel. Don’t get me wrong; I get why you use them, but that was so…!”

I laughed again, not even sure what I was finding so funny. But now I couldn’t get the idea out of my head: that my lover was actually really good with children.  _And it was adorable._

At least my amusement seemed to amuse him back.

“Calowen Bright-hair,” he said, the smile quirking at his lips again. “Do you want to have a baby with me?”

Abruptly my laughter stopped.

“What?” I looked at him, suddenly annoyed by the cocky, smug expression on his face. “Look, babe—I hate to break it to you, but you can fuck me as much as you like. A baby’s never going to happen.”

He laughed, ducking his head momentarily.

“Is that so.” He looked up again, meeting my eyes. “I’ve heard there are other ways to start a family. And it doesn’t always have to be a baby.”

I don’t know why, but I could feel this weird sort of panic suddenly surging through me.

“You’ve officially lost it,” I said. “A family. You and me. I think that’s the most hilarious thing you’ve ever said.”

“And why is that?” he asked, stepping a bit closer. “Don’t you think we’d make good parents?”

“Honestly? No. I mean you, obviously, but me!” I forced another little laugh. “Besides, we’re not even married. Oh, and we’re thieves. And we live in the sewer. We can’t bring a baby into that sort of environment. What sort of monster do you take me for?”

Brynjolf’s smile widened, ever so slightly, and he stepped closer, one arm coming to wrap loosely around my waist. I made a face but didn’t push him away.

“Are you saying you want me to ask you to marry me?” he asked, teasing, and he was already leaning towards me, his mouth only inches from my own.

“I definitely did not say that,” I said, but I could feel myself blushing, damn him.

He snorted and sort of rubbed his nose against mine instead of kissing me.

“So you don’t want to marry me,” he said.

“I didn’t—” I made a low, frustrated sound. “Fucking hell, Bryn, I didn’t say that, either, and you know it.”

“I know,” he said, and then he finally kissed me, and I don’t know if it was the thought of him as a father or what, but suddenly I was so desperate for it I probably wouldn’t have objected to doing it up against the alley wall right then and there.

Not that  _he_  was into that sort of thing, of course.

“I guess I have a lot to think about it,” he said, finally breaking the kiss.

“Whatever,” I said, “let’s just finish this up so we can head back home and start making babies.”

He laughed and took a step back, denying me the pleasure of kissing him again, before tossing me a wink and leading the way back out of the alley.


	11. Casien 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few years post-marriage
> 
> Summary: _Hellina (the wife of Ania, Galmar's eldest daughter) gives Casien a pair of rather fancy undergarments and suggests he wear them as an anniversary present for Ulfric._

“I’M NOT WEARING THESE?!” I said, rearing back from the box and dropping the silky bit of cloth as if it had bitten me.

Hellina gave me a look and reached to pick them up again.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s your anniversary. Trust me, the jarl will appreciate the sight of you in them. And if you wear them all day today, it will keep you thinking about him. I promise you, he’ll notice the difference.”

“ALL DAY?!” I said. “Are you kidding me??”

I was already squirming just thinking about it. How did one even  _wear_  such a garment? There was no room for… well, ANYTHING!

“Just try it on,” she said, smiling. “See what you think. Wear it for an hour at least. If you change your mind, you can always take it off.”

“Fine,” I said, snatching them from her.

She smiled, patted my cheek, and turned to leave.

Once I was alone, I returned to the bedroom. My heart was pounding in my chest as I held the skimpy bit of silk cloth up again. I made a face. There was  _no way_  this was going to be comfortable. Sighing, I quickly undid the lacings of my trousers and stepped out of my smallclothes as well. I almost tripped over my own feet, trying to step into the skimpy bit of cloth, and when I pulled it up?

“This is absurd,” I grumbled to myself, as I awkwardly tried to  _position_  myself within the tiny strip of cloth. Luckily, I somehow managed to do it, and it was surprisingly not uncomfortable at all. I tried to turn my body so I could gaze down at the other side of me. It was just  _absurd._ My entire ass was still hanging out! How were these even meant to be useful in anyway?!

I huffed under my breath and reached up for my pants, quickly lacing them closed, then put my soiled smallclothes into the hamper. It already felt weird, walking around with those  _things_  on me; it was almost like wearing nothing at all. I couldn’t help wondering what the king would think of them, or me  _in_  them. I blushed and hastily pushed the thought out of my mind as I left the apartment.

Hellina had said I only had to wear them for an hour, but I found myself not minding them as much as I thought I would have. I couldn’t  _not_  think about them, because it was such an odd sensation. And then my heart would start beating fast again, because I’d think about the king seeing me in them again, and I didn’t know if I was nervous or eager or both.

I had a meeting with him around noon to talk about some of my latest plans for the Gray Quarter, and just before I entered his office, Hellina came hurrying down the hall.

“Are you wearing them?” she asked, grabbing me gently by the arm to stop me.

When I nodded, her eyes lit up like candles, a bright, mischievous smile spreading over her face.

“Show him,” she said. “Just a small peek. And right before you leave.”

“What?!” I gaped at her. “Here? In public??”

“In his office,” she said. “Just before you leave. Trust me.”

I took a deep breath, but I supposed I did have to trust her. She just  _knew_  about stuff like this.

The entire meeting, I couldn’t help shifting around on my seat a bit, for the back part of the…  _whatever_  these things were, kept getting caught between my… well, you know. Not surprisingly, he noticed.

“Are you all right?” he finally asked, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, probably too quickly. “I just…” My nose twitched, and I had to make an effort not to reach behind me and yank at the damn things.

I grew progressively more nervous as the meeting drew to a close. Finally, he glanced at the Dwemer clock on his desk and said we needed to finish up, for he had another meeting in less than ten minutes. I nodded, gathered up my notes, and stood up. I hesitated, just for a moment, Hellina’s words echoing in my head:  _Show him. Show him. Show him._

“Was there something else?” he asked, when I didn’t immediately turn and leave.

“Um,” I said. I swallowed. “I, uh, just wanted to show you something.”

“…Yes?” he prompted, when I still didn’t move.

I took a deep breath and shifted the pile of notes to my left hand. Then, I pushed up my tunic and undertunic and pushed down the side of my trousers, displaying the thin, silky strip of cloth along my hip.

The king’s eyes went wide.

I quickly dropped my hand, lowering my tunic again.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

“No!” I said, shocked. “You have a meeting—

“Up. Stairs,” he repeated, standing.

“No!” I cried, and I turned and ran, laughing the whole way and hiding my red face behind my notes, so gods only knew what Jorleif thought as I fled the room.

I grew a bit more disenchanted with my new underthings as the day progressed; they kept getting caught behind me, and at one point, I sort of, um,  _fell out_  of the front part. They also didn’t do much to restrain one’s arousal, particularly when one is forced to have dinner that night at the high table, and the king keeps giving you  _looks_. His burning interest was starting to become just a little too noticeable, as I caught some of the guests giving us very queer looks. Finally, I stood up and said I wasn’t feeling very well, and hastily made my way back upstairs.

I thought I’d have at least half an hour to myself, for he’d have to stay and placate the guests, but no. He was the jarl, after all. I’m sure he gave some flimsy excuse about wanting to check up on me.

I jumped when I heard the apartment door open and close, and turned, hands clasped behind my back, a big smile on my face.

My husband stared back at me, holding my eyes as he quickly divested himself of his boots, sword belt, and jacket.

“Are you still wearing them,” he asked.

I don’t know why, but I was suddenly feeling very flirty.

“Do you want to check?” I asked, grinning and turning slightly sideways as if offering him my hip.

He did want to check, it turns out.

Then once he ascertained that I was indeed still wearing them, he seemed overly anxious to take them off me.

I think that was the first time the desk was forced to bear the brunt of our… affection for one another.

We did actually make it to the bed at some point, and I have to say, for all the work they’d done this morning and afternoon, the skimpy underthings themselves didn’t get to play much of a role in our anniversary celebration together. I think they ended up somewhere on the floor of the study, and I didn’t see them again until the following morning. Even worse, that was  _after_  the servant had been through to tidy up the place. I guess she had thought it prudent to leave those exactly where they were lying.

“Happy anniversary,” I said to him, later that night, all panting and exhausted and happy.

“Mm,” he said.

“Did you like your present?” I teased.

“Yes,” he said, his hand snaking about around my waist and giving me a weak squeeze. “Can I have it again tomorrow?”

“And the next, and the next,” I said, smiling.  _And all the days after_ , I thought, snuggling up to him as close as I could get.


	12. Casien 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few weeks into a very new relationship. Casien's in his early 20s, Ulfric in his early 40s.
> 
> Summary: _Modern AU! Wherein Ulfric is an exiled king from a small, northern European country, and Casien is a college student. They have finally entered into a relationship, and are about to embark on, if not their first date, probably their fourth or fifth one._

“You’re never going to tell me what you do for a living, are you?”

Ulfric met his young date’s teasing little smile and tried his best to keep his own features neutral. Of course, he intended to tell Casien the truth  _eventually_ , but for now, well—it was best if things stayed just the way they were.

“Just get in the car, please,” he said, patiently holding open the passenger door of the car Galmar had rented for him. He’d specifically requested that the car be inconspicuous and allow him to blend in. Apparently, his cousin had failed in that regard.

“I’ve never been inside a Porsche before,” said his date, leaning forward to examine one of the panels. “What does this do?”

“Please do not touch that,” he said, buckling up and pulling out of the drive.

“Why not? You don’t know what it does either, do you?”

He just sighed, and shot a look at the younger man. Perhaps if he changed the topic.

“Tell me more about this ‘haunted house’ we are going to,” he said, checking his mirrors carefully as he merged into traffic. He wasn’t used to driving period, let alone driving on the right side of the road the way Americans did.

“Don’t they have them in your country?”

“They do not.”

Casien snorted softly under his breath.

“Would you even know if they did?”

He glanced sideways as he drove, frowning.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. So, a haunted house is like, this event that people put on. No one really thinks it’s haunted, but you pretend it is.”

“You  _pretend_ …”

“Yes! And there’s scary music playing, and guys with chainsaws and people walking around with missing limbs and stuff.”

“And this,” Ulfric said slowly, “is your idea of a romantic evening.”

Casien laughed, the sound so high and clear, it made Ulfric’s heart beat just a little bit faster.

“It’s the night before Halloween, silly! We  _have_  to do something spooky. Plus when we get scared we can hold onto one another, and  _that’s_  pretty romantic.”

“So you say,” he murmured, still not entirely sure what all this ‘haunted house’ was supposed to entail, but he supposed he would soon find out. And the thought of his young date clinging to him in feigned fear was not an unappealing one.

The parking lot was quite full as they pulled in. He was fortunate that the car came with a self-parking feature, for he was quite certain he would have hit something if he’d tried it himself. Casien naturally exclaimed with delight as the car began to back itself into the parking space. He tried to keep his face straight, and not reveal how adorable he found the younger man.

Once outside, they went to stand in line with the others who had gathered. The so-called haunted house was before them, artificial screams filling the air, lights flashing in the darkness, supposedly scary music playing. A bored teenager stood near the front, exchanging money for tickets. When it was their turn, Ulfric handed the girl the cash and received their tickets, then the two of them entered.

The way the lights immediately flickered briefly before going out for good was disconcerting, but he was rather pleased when his date immediately laughed and wrapped his arms around one of his own.

“Which way are we supposed to go?”

“I believe we are meant to follow these,” he said, nodding down at the neon spray-painted arrows on the floor.

Casien released his arm but took his hand instead, and he was glad for the darkness, for he could feel his face begin to warm at the thoughtless gesture. He refrained from squeezing his fingers around the younger man’s the way he wanted to, and allowed him to lead him through the darkness and into the next room.

He jumped when the lights flashed again, his heart leaping into his throat when the horrifying visage of a decapitated woman appeared before them. Casien laughed and reached up to pat his chest with his free hand.

“Did that scare you?” he asked.

“I was merely startled,” he said, and he could hear the gruffness in his own voice.

“Don’t worry; I won’t let you go,” teased his date.

“You are too kind,” he said dryly, and that earned him another light little laugh. He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the disturbing sight of the decapitated woman, and tried not to show how relieved he was as they passed into the next room.

So far as he could tell, each new room was more horrifying than the next. Once there was a woman singing to a child—a real woman, too, an actor, he supposed—but when they peeked down at the child, it wasn’t a child at all, but some hideous, monstrous thing. Then the woman screamed, and they both jumped back. But where Casien only seemed to delight over the experience, he did his best to steady the pounding of his heart and remind himself that none of it was real.

They encountered more dead bodies, bloody entrails, an apparent ghost of a small child wandering aimlessly down a staircase towards them—he wondered briefly who would allow their child to participate in such a ghastly event as this. Throughout the entire ordeal, he was forced to balance his own frazzled nerves with the delight he felt each time his young date grabbed hold of him. At one point, he even tentatively wrapped an arm around the younger man’s waist, and was rewarded with the sensation of him leaning closer into the embrace. He came close to dipping his head down a little and letting that soft, dark hair brush against his cheek, but he didn’t.

“Oh, look!” said Casien, as they must have been nearing the end. “A closet! Someone left the door open I guess.” Even in the low lighting, Ulfric could see the mischievous look on his sweet face. “Want to…?”

He arched an eyebrow down at him, too surprised to argue when his date pulled him towards the closet, snickering the whole time as if they were doing something terribly naughty. And he supposed it was certainly not part of the intended experience—to sneak off into a dark closet when no one else was looking.

“It’s so dark in here!” Casien exclaimed, once they’d closed the door, and indeed, it was pitch black. They were forced to stand very close, and he could already feel anticipation coiling in his stomach.

“Yes,” he murmured, and his hands found his date’s face, cupping him, his thumbs rubbing gently over his cheeks. He leaned down and brushed their lips together—and was surprised when Casien leaned up into the kiss, deepening it.

So this was a make-out session, he thought ruefully, and there was something to be said for the ardor of youth—he himself was determined to not move things too quickly, but Casien was always eager to push him just a little bit further, as if anxious to see just how far he would go. He held him as they kissed, letting one hand dip down, smoothing over his date’s ass—which naturally earned him an eager little thrust of the hips, and he had to almost bite down on his own tongue to refrain from returning the movement.

He ended the kiss, eventually, both of them panting heavily. He couldn’t help the smile he felt curling onto his face, nor the chuckle that bubbled gently out of him.

“We should return,” he said, hearing the huskiness in his own voice.

“Mm,” said his companion. He sounded very dreamy and, well, aroused, and Ulfric almost pinched himself to stop himself from imagining the look that must be on his flushed face right now. At least he was able to adjust himself in the darkness without anyone being the wiser.

He cleared his throat as they stepped cautiously back out of the closet. Thankfully, they were alone. He retook his date’s hand without thinking, and led the way towards what he assumed was the exit.

He should have anticipated that the whole silly thing wouldn’t end with such a whimper. They could see the streetlights from outside as they made their way through the final room—then, at the last minute, a man—another actor, clearly—leapt out at them, hefting a large, “bloodied” baseball bat with horrifying looking spikes in it, bits of apparent “flesh” hanging from the spikes. The man gave a terrible scream—and it all happened so fast. Maybe it was because the man seemed particularly focused on Casien, who shrank back in immediate, instinctual alarm. And maybe it was because he’d just had his arms around the younger man, had just been kissing him and holding him in the darkness—that he himself reacted on instinct as well.

He stepped in front of his date without thinking—and slammed his fist into the actor’s face.

The man dropped like a fly, the now obviously toy bat bouncing out of his limp hand.

They both stared down in shocked silence, mouths agape at the poor unconscious man.

“Holy shit,” Casien finally said.

“…Yes,” he said, swallowing, for there wasn’t really much else to say.

Forty minutes later, they were finally pulling out of the haunted house parking lot. Luckily, the man had regained consciousness only a few seconds after he’d been so unceremoniously knocked out. He had actually laughed about it, saying getting ‘accidentally surprise-punched’ was part of the job. Nevertheless, his friends and co-workers had insisted on calling an ambulance, seeing as how he’d actually blacked out. When the man had protested, claiming he couldn’t afford it, Ulfric quickly and discreetly pulled out his wallet and asked the man how much it would cost.  _I can’t let you do that_ , the man had said, eyes wide.  _It is the least I can do,_  he’d replied.

“I can’t believe you just gave that guy a thousand dollars,” said Casien, his face slightly pale as they merged back into traffic.

“Oh?” he asked, wondering anxiously if that really was a terrible amount of money, and if he’d finally blown his cover irrevocably.

“Um, yes?” His date sighed and sat back in the comfortable leather seat. “Who just carries that kind of money in their wallet like it’s nothing?” He blinked. “An assassin!”

Ulfric almost hit the person in front of them, having to swerve a little.

“What?” he said, glancing to his right.

“You! You’re an assassin! That’s how you get paid, in giant wads of cash… What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he murmured.

“Like I’m crazy? All right, I guess you’re not an assassin. But you have to tell me what you do.  _Eventually_.”

“Eventually,” he agreed.

There was silence between them for a moment, then:

“Well, after all that, I think you definitely owe me dinner. Hungry?”

He smiled, relaxing.

“Very.”

He caught that sly little smile from the corner of his eye.

“Your place?” quipped the younger man.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed, and cast another, chastising look at his impish young date.

 _Eager little thing_ , he thought, still chuckling.

“Find us a place to eat,” he said, nodding at Casien’s phone, which the younger man was holding in one hand—people his age seemed incapable of not having their devices securely in reach at all times.

The night ended innocently enough. After dinner, he dropped his date back off at the apartment he shared with his two roommates. They kissed again, and he had to ignore his own eagerness and decline Casien’s invitation to come up with him.

A few minutes later, he passed through the gate and pulled into the driveway of the residence the US Embassy was renting for them. He was tired, and handed the car keys to the first servant who appeared. Not surprisingly, Galmar and Lia were both waiting in the main sitting room. Lia was working, as usual, tapping away on her laptop even though it was still nighttime back home. Her husband, the crown prince—a title which came with being cousin to the king—lounged on the sofa beside her, fooling around with his phone.

“Fuck him yet?” Galmar asked, looking up from his phone and lolling his head against the back of the couch.

“Be nice, dear,” said his wife, never looking up from her own work.

Ulfric just huffed under his breath and headed upstairs to his suite—where a much needed cold shower awaited him.


	13. Casien 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: This takes place approximately one year before the beginning of Part 3. Casien is 23, almost 24.
> 
> Summary: _Casien prepares to leave Windhelm for a year to go study at the college in Winterhold_

The day of my departure was a cold one, clouds hanging low in the sky, the first buds of spring frozen on the trees from the previous night’s frost.

The king rode with us until lunchtime. I sat atop my old gray gelding, my husband’s old fur cloak sitting heavily around my shoulders. We rode close together, so close sometimes my foot would tap against his own. Our horses were used to one another, I suppose, and didn’t mind so much.

We talked quietly to one another, ignoring the soldiers who rode before and after us, as if it were we two alone together. We talked about mundane things, mostly, the meeting he’d had the day before with a particularly ridiculous pair of merchants, the cookies I’d baked with Asgar and Inge last Sundas, and how they were supposed to be for Inge’s crush but we ended up eating half of them. I loved to gaze at his face, to see his smile spread as he laughed and briefly lowered his eyes. I drank him in, memorizing his profile, the sound of his voice, the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and the gray threading through the blond of his hair and beard.

We sat close together at lunch; I leaned against him, sadness briefly washing over me when he wrapped an arm around me, holding me close. He didn’t normally show such affection in public. I felt him dip his head down, his nose brushing through the top of my hair. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“It’s time,” he finally murmured.

We stood up. The soldiers busied themselves breaking camp. They had left us mostly to ourselves, though one did come to dampen our little fire. The jarl would have normally done that himself, but instead, he walked me to my horse. I turned to face him.

“No,” he said, the word softly slipping out of him. “Don’t cry.”

He brought one hand up and brushed against the corner of my eye; I blinked and lowered my eyes to our boots. I took a deep, steadying breath.

I felt his fingers move up to brush a shock of hair behind my ear, then his lips gently pressing against my forehead.

We were out of time.

I lifted my head again, our eyes meeting. I think we both moved towards one another at the same time, his lips capturing my own, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me close. My fingers gripped the collar of his cloak.

I pressed one cold palm against his cheek as we finally separated. He closed his eyes and sighed, his hand coming up to briefly rest over my own before entwining our fingers together.

He brought my hand to his lips, kissing it before releasing it and lowering his own, cupping them so I could mount my horse. I gripped the sides of the saddle and let him fling me up, my right leg swinging awkwardly over the saddle as usual. Once I was seated, he took my hand again. He kissed my palm, and I couldn’t help it. I had to push the tears back from the corners of my eyes with heels of my other hand.

“Only a year, dear heart,” he murmured. “And I will write to you.”

“Every day,” I said, reminding him of his promise.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Every day,” he repeated.

I sniffed absently and nodded, a sad smile coming to my face as well.

“I’ll miss you,” I said.

He didn’t respond, his hand only coming to rest on my thigh for a moment, squeezing gently. Then he stepped away, and nodded at the soldiers who were waiting. One of them reached for my horse’s bridle and clicked her tongue. We were off.

I looked over my shoulder, watching as he stood there, both of us looking at one another. Then he turned and mounted his own horse. Two of the soldiers separated to follow him back to Windhelm; the rest remained with me.

I faced forward again and took a deep breath—and readied myself for the next year of my life.


	14. Pell 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Razum-dar x Pell Falil
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: Pell is probably about 21 here.
> 
> Summary: _Warm Sands, Bright Skies: In which Pell tries to convince Razum-dar that there’s nothing wrong with a Bosmer lying with a Khajiit._

“I don’t understand,” I said, my fingers gripping my bottle of mead and trying to stay focused on the man before me. “Don’t you like me?”

Raz laughed.

“Of course, Raz likes you.” He had such a rich, melodic voice; I couldn’t resist sighing. “Raz likes you quite a lot, actually.” He paused to scratch behind one ear. “Perhaps more than he should. But that is not the point, bright one.”

“Why then?” I blinked, frowning when the room started to swirl, the voices of the other patrons all briefly mingling together. “I’ve been with other Khajiit, you know. I know that’s like… not supposed to happen. But I have.”

Raz’s ears flickered backward, whiskers twitching in surprise.

“Have you.” He chuckled, and ran a paw through his spiky red hair. “How… unexpected. Well, there is a reason that taboo exists. Raz does not necessarily agree with it, but…” He shrugged.

“Not just Cathay and Suthay Khajiit, too,” I said, aware that I probably shouldn’t be admitting this. “But others.”

Raz’s eyes went wide.

“Others?”

“Well… just one other. And I was really young. I got in trouble. My mother was really angry.” I sighed, briefly covering my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes. “Apparently, it was a thing he did. Seducing young non-Khajiit.”

Raz snorted and said something in Ta’agra—a ghastly word, something you only say when discussing something or someone truly heinous. He shook his head. Then he sighed.

“Be that as it may… you are not Khajiit, bright one. You will want different things. Have you been with… others of your kind?”

I shook my head, watching in fascination as he seemed to separate before gradually coalescing back into one Raz again.

“Then you have never shared a kiss. You have never felt another man’s fingers running through your hair or felt his warm skin press against your own. These are things men and mer desire in a lover. You would not be happy with this or any other Khajiit.”

I supposed I had an inkling as to what he was talking about. I didn’t want to believe that I had never been in love, for I liked him very much. I enjoyed being with all of my past lovers, though I guessed in retrospect I couldn’t really call that love. I touched my own lips suddenly, wondering what it would feel like to kiss or be kissed. My own were very soft, and a bit sticky from the mead. How would it feel to kiss while we made love?

I lowered my hand, my eyes meeting his.

“All right,” I said. “But… what about tonight? You said you’re leaving again in the morning. You don’t have to be in love with me,” I said quickly, for I could see the refusal on the tip of his tongue. “I don’t need love. I know I’m a mer, but you said you liked me.”

Raz made a low, groaning, frustrated sound deep in his throat.

“Raz wonders if you have been sent by Jone and Jode to test him. Or perhaps an agent of the queen…” He sighed. “Go upstairs, little one. And go to sleep. The next time Raz sees you, it had better be with a big, strapping, furless mate at your side.”

Come morning, I had both a splitting headache and a lingering feeling of deep embarrassment souring in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know in that moment whether it would be a blessing or a curse to never see Raz again. I rolled over in bed, groaning, rubbing at my forehead—and finally noticed the note lying beside my bed.

I reached for it, my eyes widening when I recognized the familiar handwriting:

_It would have been spectacular. Warm sands guide your path, bright one. -Raz_

I smiled and rolled over onto my back, clutching the note to my chest.

“And bright skies sing your home,” I murmured—a familiar refrain repeated between passing travelers who were close friends, lovers, or family.


	15. Casien 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: This is probably a year or so into their marriage.
> 
> Summary: _Ulfric, Casien, Ania (Galmar's daughter, and Ulfric's heir), and her wife, Hellina, have made a diplomatic journey to Riften. The jarl and his errant young husband have got into a bit of a fight, and it's up to Ania to set things right again._

I hesitated only for a moment before knocking on the heavy wooden door. Momentary panic shot through me as soon as I heard voices and movement on the other side, but I was reasonably sure I’d gotten the right room. Mistveil Keep was nowhere near as large and convoluted as the Palace of the Kings.

The door opened, and it was Ania who gazed down at me, sword in her right hand - typical Nord.

She frowned, setting the sword down, leaning it against the wall. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you lost?”

“No,” I said, feeling my face start to slowly turn red. “I just… I need a place to stay.”

“Ania?”

Hellina peeped over her wife’s shoulder, her eyebrows rising when she saw me. 

“Casien! My goodness, what’s the matter?”

“Uncle kicked you out of bed?” Ania joked, but then she must have seen the expression on my face, and her own altered, her eyes widening. “Shit. Uncle kicked you out of bed, didn’t he?”

“Well…” I began, anxiously tapping my fingers together, but Hellina pushed Ania aside.

“Stop plaguing him with questions and let him come inside,” she said, gently grasping me by the upper arm and pulling me in. “You’re not even wearing shoes. It’s freezing outside!”

They sat me down, then, Ania gong to fetch a pair of slippers at Hellina’s insistence while Hellina went to fix me a cup of tea. Together, they encouraged me to explain what had happened: what I had done, why we had argued, if he’d  _really_  told me I had to leave (he hadn’t), and just how angry I really thought he was (very).

“Okay,” said Ania, standing. “I’ve heard enough. Come on, on your feet.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, nervously handing Hellina the empty tea cup.

“Where do you think? He’s going to apologize to you and that’ll be that.”

“But it really was my fault!” I said, hurrying alongside her and looking helplessly back at Hellina, who only smiled and shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Ania. “He yells too much. He’s too used to getting his own way.”

“He’s the  _king_ ,” I pointed out, but she was paying me no mind, only marching us both back down the hallway, where she paused before the quarters the jarl and I had been assigned and began to knock.

I winced at each hard rap and wished fervently that I knew a spell for becoming one with the floor once I heard his footsteps.

He, too, held his sword in one hand as he opened the door, his body tense, expression hard. But he seemed to relax as soon as he saw it was us; indeed, he almost looked relieved.

“Casien!” he said. He lay the sword down before reaching for me, pulling me gently forward. “Where have you been? You shouldn’t have— 

“Now that’s enough of  _that_ , Uncle,” said Ania. “Stop chastising him like he’s a child. I know you’re used to yelling at everyone when you don’t get your way, but enough’s enough. Casien’s your husband; you can’t treat him like one of the new recruits.”

He drew himself up, his expression hardening, even as his grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly.

“I am not treating him like a child,” he said. “But he shouldn’t— 

“You’re doing it again,” she interrupted. “He shouldn’t this, he shouldn’t that. He’s a grown ass man, Uncle.”

“I’m well aware,” came the stiffened response, which, fair, considering the things we liked to do together.

“Then maybe start treating him like one.”

“That’s a little harsh,” I finally said, feeling as if I ought to stand up for him. He was my husband, after all, and I loved him, even when we  _did_  fight. “He doesn’t treat me like a child.” I paused, glancing up at him. “Though… it would be  _nice_  if you didn’t yell at me so much.”

He frowned.

“I do not…” But then he seemed to pause and collect himself. He glanced at Ania, who lifted her chin and arched an eyebrow at him. He sighed and looked at me again.

“Very well,” he said. He pressed his lips together for a moment before reaching up, resting both his large hands on my shoulders. “I am sorry for yelling at you. My behavior has dishonored you, and I resolve to do better.  _However_ …” He glanced at Ania as though daring her to interrupt. “I am within my rights  _as your husband_  to express my concern for your safety when you show such flagrant disregard for your own life.”

“That’s acceptable,” said Ania. “Just maybe don’t  _express_  yourself so loudly and violently that he thinks you don’t want him back in your bed.”

This seemed to stun him. He looked at her again, then back at me.

“I… would never…” He drew in a breath. “I certainly did not mean to imply that I did not wish to…  _be_  with you tonight. If I gave that impression, then I certainly do apologize.”

The lighting was a little too low for me to be sure, but I knew, just  _knew_  that he was probably turning a little pink.

I smiled.

“All right,” I said. “I forgive you.”

“Great,” said Ania, rolling her eyes. “Then my work here is done. And remember to behave, Uncle,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

“Mm,” came the noncommittal response. She stuck her tongue out at him, so he pulled me further in and quietly shut the door on her.

I immediately stood on tiptoe, smiling again and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I’m tired,” I said, nuzzling his neck when he obligingly wrapped his arms around me as well. “Take me to bed.”

“With pleasure,” came the murmured response.


	16. Casien 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: A few years post-marriage
> 
> Summary: _Ulfric is terrified after his beloved nearly loses his life in a dangerous accident._

I kept watching him from the corner of my eye.

He’d wanted to visit the construction site for the new school, and I, in a moment of weakness, indulged him. I had a spare hour that day, and Lia said it was a good suggestion, that we should be seen together more often, and that I should exhibit a greater interest in the goings on within the city. Galmar had very little to say on the matter, which came as no surprise.

But I confess it was the plaintive look my young beloved gave me that morning that encouraged me to finally acquiesce. 

The foreman was astonished to see us. It was difficult not to express my amusement over how nervous he was. The soldiers who’d accompanied us seemed bored. I caught one yawning and leaning slightly against a nearby building. I would have to have a word with Galmar about discipline and professionalism.

A child’s laughter rang out from above, and I glanced up yet again. He was up there, balancing on the beams and smiling, pretending to chase the two young children of the foreman. One of the workers called for the children to be careful. I breathed in, forced myself to look away.

And then came the crash.

The entire top half of the structure gave way all at once. I never knew the cause; I later relieved the foreman in a fit of anger that Galmar chastised me for, but I don’t think it was an unreasonable decision. All I truly remember from that moment was watching in horror as the vestiges of the roof collapsed, and down went the three figures who’d been on top of it.

I was climbing the rubble before I even knew what I was doing. The children were safe; I grabbed the little girl and handed her to a worker. The foreman called to his son, who called back; a little hand reached out, the father grasped it, and out he came.

“Casien!” I called, my voice echoing in the darkness below.

Nothing.

Frantically, I grabbed and tossed aside wooden beams and bricks and other bits of newly made rubble. I heard others shouting around me. Someone called for a healer.  _Help the jarl!_  one of the soldiers cried. I couldn’t care for any of them.

Finally, I found him. 

He lay stretched out on the stone floor below, utterly motionless. I scrambled down beside him as quickly as I could. I had to push aside a heavy beam which lay atop his still form, grunting and then crying out from the effort. I knelt beside him, picking him up, gathering him in my arms, feeling the back of his head. Wet, my fingers sticky and red when I examined them.

He moaned, his eyes fluttering open, though he did not seem to see me.

“Casien,” I murmured, anguish ripping through my heart. “Look at me. Please.”

His eyes seemed to struggle in the dim light before finding my own. He smiled.

“…Sorry,” he said. Then he closed his eyes again.

“No!” I squeezed him, gave his cheek a few light taps. “No, open your eyes! Casien!”

Some of the soldiers and workers had finally reached us. One of the soldiers, the sleepy one I’d been frowning at earlier, begged me to hand him to her, so that they could pull him up by turns and get him to safety. I mutely complied. 

Outside, the healer waited. I gathered him back up into my arms, and watched breathlessly as the man came forward, pulling back my beloved’s eyelids, feeling his pulse, delicately touching the back of his head.

“He will live,” came the sharp pronouncement. “But we must prevent the brain from swelling further, my lord. I have a poultice…”

The poultice was produced and fetched. Afterward, I carried him home, the soldiers following me. The healer offered me careful instruction as I lay him down upon our bed, tenderly brushing the hair from his now dirtied face. 

He was so pale and small and still. I did not weep, but I sat beside him and held his hand, and prayed to each and every one of the Nine.

\\\

Days later, he smiled sleepily at me from our bed. He was still woozy, but the prognosis was more than good, and all serious danger by then had passed. 

“I should have been more careful,” he said. “I know.”

“Yes,” I said, unable to keep the sternness from creeping into my voice. “You should have been.”

He smile widened, growing almost lazy.

“But you saved me.”

I looked back at him.

“I did.”

He only sighed then and turned onto his side, wrapping his arms around one of mine and curling up close to me. I lay down the book I’d been reading and lay back a little more against the pillows, shifting carefully so as not to disturb him, for I felt his body sigh one more time against mine before his breathing evened out.

I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his brow. How the Nine could be so good to me after all the ill I had brought into this world… I would never truly understand it. 


	17. Casien 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Time: Young Casien alert! Probably a few months into the relationship
> 
> Summary: _Casien has an unfortunate incident involving bleached hair. Ulfric clearly tries his hardest not to let him see how amusing (not to mention adorable) the situation is._

I heard the outer door open and close and knew it could only be one person. So I did the only thing I  _could_  do, since I was already sitting on the bed and mere seconds away from bawling my eyes out in despair: I flopped back against the mattress and yanked the furs and bed sheets over me, completely covering my body from head to toe.

I listened as the footsteps grew closer - some small part of me sighing with relief when I heard a pause to indicate that a pair of boots had been removed before their owner entered the study and bedroom - and tried to push back the feeling of dread and humiliation that washed over me as he neared the bed.

A few seconds passed, during which I knew he was gazing down at me. I pictured his arms crossed over his broad chest, a faint smile tugging at his lips. I was sure he’d been told what had happened.

“I made a mistake,” I finally said, my voice sounding every bit as miserable as I felt.

“I’m sure it cannot be that bad,” said my husband.

“It is. I can’t let you see.” 

I felt the mattress dip beside me.

“Come,” he said, a hint of amusement tickling his own warm voice. “Show me.”

“You think this is a joke,” I said bitterly. “Like I’m being overly dramatic. But you haven’t  _seen_  it. When you do, you’ll probably… disown me.  _Divorce_  me. And you should, because this is a  _nightmare_.”

“That seems highly unlikely.”

When I didn’t respond, I felt his hand give the bed sheets a gentle tug.

“No,” I growled, my fingers clenching around the sheets and furs.

“Casien.”

I pressed my lips together and squeezed my eyes shut before sighing heavily. After a moment, I forced my fingers to unclench and slowly lowered my arms.

I gazed up into the eyes of the king, watching as his own widened almost imperceptibly. His lips twitched, and he brought a fist up to momentarily cover his mouth.

“I just wanted to lighten it a little,” I said miserably. 

“It…” His lips twitched again, and he had to look momentarily away. He seemed to collect himself after a moment before meeting my eyes again, his smile more genuine now. “It is not that bad.”

I stared up at him.

“It’s ORANGE!!” I finally said. “My hair is ORANGE!!  _Orange_ …!” 

I moaned and rolled over onto my side, grabbing the pillow and burying my face in it. 

“This is so embarrassing,” I said, my face still pressed to the pillow. “I can’t believe I let you see me like this. I can  _tell_  you want to laugh. Go ahead. You’re married to an absolute imbecile, a clueless buffoon who now has  _orange hair_ , and there’s no way you’ll EVER find me attractive  _again.”_

Okay, the last bit I admit was a little melodramatic. But how could anyone take someone who’d done something so stupid seriously? He always seemed so determined to view me as his equal, but after this? After seeing me like  _this_?

I felt a hand start to stroke through my hair and tensed. He fingered some of the now utterly frizzled strands, and I definitely heard a faint puff of laughter. 

“You are not a buffoon,” he said, fingertips stroking my hair again. “And I will always find you attractive.”

I rolled over back onto my back after a minute and met his eyes.

He smiled.

“We will ask Lia or one of the girls to help. They will know what to do.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, that would mean spreading the news of my humiliation, but I imagined someone like Hellina, for instance, would know what to do. Maybe we could even dye it back. I silently vowed to  _never_  try to lighten my hair again; I should be forever happy with the boring, flat, black color the gods had given me.

I looked at him again.

“So you  _really_  don’t think I’m hideous,” I said, not fully believing him, not matter how much he assured me. I’d seen myself in the mirror, after all.

“I do not think you are hideous,” he said, smiling. “I think you are lovely.” He reached down, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, his lips twitching. “Even if you have orange hair.”

I made an anguished noise and slapped his hand weakly away. He laughed and leaned down, surprising me by nuzzling our faces together before kissing me. I sighed against his lips, turning my head after a moment so that his beard scratched against my cheek.

“You’ll have to close your eyes when we make love,” I said.

Another puff of air, only this time I felt it against my neck. He pressed his face briefly against my temple as if to hide a smile before then moving his lips to my ear.

“I do not think that will be necessary,” he murmured, and he kissed me there, nibbling at the sensitive tip and making my toes curl under the bed sheets. I turned my head and pressed my palm to his cheek, redirecting his mouth towards my own. He readily complied.

Did I  _really_  think he was going to divorce me on the spot? Well, no, of course not. But I’d expected amusement, maybe even disappointment. An inability to see me as an equal, as the type of person worthy of standing at the side of a king. 

I definitely did not expect to have sex.

I half-wanted to cover my entire face with the pillow - either that or cover his mouth with my own, for even as he began to make love to me, I would catch him smiling, and he’d turn his head to kiss my shoulder or my neck in a clear attempt to hide it. But I could feel his chest shaking slightly, even as he moved within me, and I whimpered and shut my eyes and tightened my legs around him. I was so embarrassed, but by the Three, how I loved him - and how I loved what his body could do to my own.

I was given leave to skip dinner that night, despite the guests’ apparent importance. Hellina had indeed known exactly what to do, and unlike my husband, she did not laugh or smile at me, and instead was very kind as she helped me to apply the dye that would re-darken my hair. Afterward, I rinsed it out and sighed with immense relief as I gazed at myself in the mirror. Some of the dye had run down my forehead and temple and the back of my neck, but she assured me it would fade in a day or two. 

“I think I miss it,” murmured my husband, very late that night, as we lay together in the darkness.

“Miss what?” I asked sleepily.

“Mm. The orange.”

I rolled over and smacked him, huffing when he started to laugh, his whole body shaking from the effort.


	18. Linas 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Vilkas x Linas
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Time: This is probably a few years into the relationship.
> 
> Summary: _Linas and Vilkas are arguing, and Farkas is damned tired of dealing with these two idiots._

I was fine with the fact that we weren’t speaking to each other.

People talked too much. I’d learned  _that_  much since integrating back into society, or what some people liked to think of as “society.” I preferred listening and observing to prattling on about nothing.

Vilkas was the same way. Maybe that’s why we had always gotten along so well. We neither of us needed to use words to share our feelings with one another. So the fact that we weren’t speaking right now made sense, really.  

I wasn’t talking to him because I truly had nothing to say to him.

And he wasn’t talking to me because he was stubborn ass who refused to admit that he’d been wrong.

I returned from the woods, a brace of rabbits thrown over one shoulder, my bow in one hand. Both brothers were sitting around the fire, quietly sharpening their blades. Only one looked up at me as I approached.

“Good hunting?” asked Farkas.

I shrugged. There was plenty of game in these woods, but plenty of predators, too—mostly wolves, lynxes, and foxes, so they weren’t any trouble for us. But they kept the other animals in hiding.

I pulled my knife out and began skinning the rabbits. I could feel someone watching me as I worked. I pressed my lips together and said nothing.

“All right,” said Farkas, finally. “I’ll say it. Just how long is this going to last?”

I shrugged again without looking up.

I got up after a moment to dispose of the skin and fur, and to look for a decent sized stick to spit roast the meat.

“Wait,” said Farkas, once I’d returned, stick in hand.

He stood up then and walked over to me. I craned my head up at him—he was even taller than Vilkas—and frowned. He was standing very close.

I could feel Vilkas watching us.

“This is from my brother,” said Farkas.

It’s likely only because I trusted him so much that I didn’t flinch when he reached up to cradle my face in his hands. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips against mind.

I jerked away almost immediately, my eyes wide.

But my reaction was nothing compared to Vilkas’.

He leapt to his feet and stalked towards us, his face a furious thundercloud. Farkas had a dumb smirk on his face as his brother approached, and he made no move to defend himself when Vilkas shoved him viciously back.

“Just what do you think you’re doing!?” snarled my lover.

Farkas shrugged.

“Just helping you apologize. Since you’re too damn stubborn to do it yourself.”

Vilkas growled, the sound low and menacing. Then he whirled around and grabbed me by the arm before stalking off into the woods, dragging me along with him.

“Vilkas,” I hissed, for it annoyed me when he started to act like this. “What are you  _doing_?”

“Taking you away from  _him_ ,” he snapped.

I let him drag me a few more feet before finally putting my foot down.

“Vilkas, STOP,” I said.

He stopped. He looked down at his hand then, seeing how tightly he was holding me, and released me quickly. I rubbed my arm absently and gave him a long, irritable look. He huffed under his breath and looked away.

I rolled my eyes.

“Are you that stupid that you can’t see what he was trying to do?” I asked.

“I  _know_  what he was trying to do!” he said. “He always wants what he can’t have! Ever since we were pups—

“VILKAS.”

I reached up, putting my hand over his mouth and silencing him. His eyes widened, and he stared down at me, his brows then furrowing in confusion.

“He doesn’t like it when we fight,” I said. I lowered my hand then with a sigh. “And neither do I.”

It was an unusual admission from me. I also didn’t give him a chance to respond, for I then gripped him by the collar of his tunic and pulled him down for a kiss. It was quite different from the one I’d just received from his brother, of course. His lips softened briefly against my own before pressing insistently. I opened my mouth, letting his tongue dip inside the way he always wanted to. He wrapped an arm possessively around me, pulling me tight against him.

He wanted to keep going, to assert his dominance—not over me, but over his brother, to take what he felt belonged to him and him alone. Many others, I knew, would have found this distasteful, but I understood him. I had lived away from men and mer for most of my life. It was the animals I understood. And it was this side of Vilkas that I understood best.

I wasn’t going to let him take me in the way he wanted, for we weren’t fully prepared, and I’m no glutton for pain. But kissing—lying back against the damp earth with him on top of me, his hands fumbling at the ties to both our trousers while his kisses turned to panting nips and nibbles—this I could happily allow.

I couldn’t help the little strangled moan that escaped me, once he’d freed us both. I tangled my fingers in his hair and brought his lips back up to mine while his hand worked between us. We hadn’t gone far, to be honest, and I imagined Farkas could probably hear us. I imagined him snorting at the sounds we were making, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

We reached our release almost simultaneously. Generally, I like to come first, so I can see the look on his face as he succumbs fully to pleasure. But there is a shared state of transcendence when we come together, both of us falling over the edge together before collapsing back to earth in a tangled heap of limps and panting mouths.

He stayed on top of me, hot breath puffing against my neck. I stroked my fingers through his hair, and nuzzled the side of his face.

I waited, for I knew what was about to come.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, in a tiny voice.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, kissing the side of his nose.

“I know.”


	19. Casien 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Time: Several years post-Book 3. Casien is 27 here.
> 
> Summary: _After a disastrous dinner involving the beautiful young husband of a wealthy merchant, Casien begins to doubt his husband's continued attraction to him._

The merchant was very old, his husband at least 40 years his junior.

I had never seen such age disparity in a couple, and I wondered what it was that had caused their union to come to pass in the first place. For the merchant was not an attractive man—and I had seen many a man towards the latter end of his 60s who was still very handsome. He was boisterous and ate his food as if he thought it would be taken away if he didn’t, and I ascertained from the size of his gut that this behavior of his was a regular habit. He paid very little attention to his pretty young husband, and spent most of his time speaking to Lia, Una, and Hellina, who heaped appropriate amounts of praise upon him, for if he could be convinced to bring his business here to Windhelm, it would no doubt substantially increase our yearly budget.

But I didn’t much care about him. It was the pretty young husband at whom I couldn’t seem to stop glaring.

He  _was_ pretty—slightly tilted ears, though he was no elf—a Breton, I think—with lovely, long, dark hair and sparkling, gray eyes. He sipped his wine and smiled at the jarl over the rim of the goblet, the jewels on his fingers flashing in the candlelight. His laugh was low and melodic, his conversation effortless. He seemed to know exactly what to say to make the jarl smile.

He knew what he was doing, too. Every now and then, he would glance at me and let his lips curl into a knowing little smile. I did my best not to glare him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“So you are a musician,” said the jarl, reaching for his own glass of mead, his eyes never leaving his dinner companion’s.

“Yes,” purred the man who was now the person I hate most in the world. “I have been playing since I was a child.”

“I imagine, then, you must be quite accomplished.”

He gave a lazy, one-shouldered shrug.

“I would not be so bold as to call myself such. I generally prefer to let my listener be the judge of my talents.”

“That, I suppose, is wise,” said the jarl.

The man’s eyes flicked briefly towards me, and he smiled again, his gaze returning to my husband’s.

“As it happens, I have brought my instrument here with me. Perhaps you would like a private… performance, my lord.”

This— _this—_ propositioning my husband before my very own eyes—was more than I could take. Suddenly, everyone at the table seemed to start, all of them looking up at me in surprise.

That’s when I realized I had stood up abruptly from my chair.

I could have made some excuse. I could have admitted that my stomach had gone sour, or that I was tired, and needed to lie down.

But I didn’t.

“Casien,” said the jarl, concern etched into his features, “Are you…?”

“I  _know_  what you’re trying to do,” I spat, ignoring my husband in favor of glaring down at the man before me. “And it’s  _not_  going to work.”

I pushed my chair out further and marched over to the jarl’s side. He was staring up at me in faint confusion, for I’m sure I had never acted so wildly in public before, and certainly not during a state dinner. Then I did something that I regretted as soon as I’d done it, for it was so inappropriate, so against etiquette, that I wouldn’t be surprised if it resulted in his not speaking to me for days.

I leaned down, grabbed the front of his tunic, and kissed him.

In front of everyone.

Not just the high table—the middle table, too, with the nobles gawking over at us, and the low table, with the soldiers all staring with wide eyes and gaping mouths. And then there were the servants. I distinctly heard the sound of a dropped platter, plates and cutlery bouncing against the stone floor of the hall.

I straightened quickly—the king looked flustered and confused—with just a tinge of annoyance creeping its way into his features.

But I ignored him, and turned to the merchant’s pretty husband instead.

“You’ve made your bed,” I said, “so sleep in it—and  _stay out of mine_!”

Then I turned and hurried out of the hall, my hands balled into fists at my sides, my cheeks already flaming. I pressed my lips together and lowered my head, humiliation fully consuming me as I went to push one of the heavy doors open. The soldier standing at attention there, bless him, hastened to do so for me.

Once I was alone, I ran the whole way back to our room. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I really had acted with astounding immaturity, and doubtlessly had jeopardized the entire business deal. There wasn’t a chance that my husband would have succumbed to that awful man’s wiles—yet my heart still thrummed with bitter jealousy at the way he had smiled so warmly at my perceived rival.

I was little surprised when I heard the outer door to our apartment open not five minutes after I’d arrived myself.

I expected the lecture of a lifetime. I expected to be chastised, to be yelled at, for him to demand what in Oblivion had come over me, to act so ridiculously before our guests.

To my surprise, the door did not slam closed—my shoulders hunched and tensed with expectation—but instead clicked gently shut. I heard his approach then, boots muffled by the thick carpets below our feet. I still couldn’t turn around though and face him.

I almost started crying when I felt his hand come to rest gently on my shoulder.

Instead, I jerked away from his touch, finally whirling to look at him.

“I had every right!” I said, blinking through angry tears up into his startled blue eyes. “I had EVERY RIGHT!”

He was silent for a moment, then: “I think, perhaps, an explanation is in order.”

“He was FLIRTING with you!” I cried, unable to truly believe that he hadn’t noticed. Then the darkness crept into my heart again, squeezing it tight. I narrowed my eyes at him. “And you were flirting back!”

He blinked, clearly surprised by the accusation.

“I most certainly was not,” he said, and I could tell that my words had wounded him, for his expression had hardened, his posture stiffening.

“You were,” I insisted. “You were smiling at him, and looking at him when he talked to you, and—you  _never_ do that with guests! You always look like they’re the  _last_  people you want to be talking to!

“This afternoon, I was instructed by Lia to treat our guests tonight with great consideration. It was important for the well-being of our people that we convince this man to bring his business to our city. Perhaps my efforts at diplomacy were mistaken for—

“I don’t believe you,” I said, hating myself even as the words were tumbling out of my mouth. “I don’t believe you didn’t find him…”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Didn’t find him  _what_ ,” he asked, cocking a brow down at me.

I sank back against the edge of the desk, defeat suddenly gushing through bone in my body.

“I’ll be 28 soon,” I said, hearing the despair in my voice, and shuddering slightly at how childish I sounded. “Nearly 30. And he’s… he’s so young, and  _beautiful_ , and…”

He sighed.

“Casien…”

“I was 19 when we first met!” I said, looking up at him again. “Not even 21 when we married. What if I’m—what if you stop being attracted to me? What if I’ve become old, and ugly, and wrinkled, and fat?”

He snorted softly.

“Casien, if you are fat, then I fear what that must make me.”

“You aren’t  _fat_ ,” I said, and even  _I_  thought I sounded unusually surly.

“And neither are you. Though if you were, it would not change my devotion to you.”

I sniffed, and rubbed my eyes, for I truly found this hard to believe. Oh, I didn’t doubt his sincerity—that was impossible. But I knew that I would not be young forever, and it was a young man with whom he had fallen in love. He couldn’t truly be responsible for his waning interest in me, if and when that time should come.

After a moment, he reached for my hand, taking it in his.

“Come,” he said.

He pulled me away from the desk and into the bedroom, pulling me down to sit beside him on the bed. He released my hand, then, instead reaching to unbuckle his sword belt before pulling the undertunic free from his pants, lifting both it and his tunic up and over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up.

I gaze at him, confused. He took my hand again, and held it to his side.

“Go on,” he said solemnly. “Give it a squeeze.”

I snorted, and laughed, and blushed, pulling my hand away. He took it, placing it over his stomach now, which was now a little soft, hanging just a little over the top of his trousers. I swallowed, and when he released my hand, I left it there. His skin was very warm, and I couldn’t help but feel desire start to trickle through me. He was still as beautiful as the day we had married, still tall and strong, his chest still large and firm, muscles rippling under his smooth skin.

“Well,” he asked, “are you ready to throw me aside in favor of someone younger and fairer?”

I lowered my eyes and shook my head. But then I pulled my hand away, my shoulders hunching inward again.

“It isn’t the same,” I insisted. “You’re…  _you_. And I’m… I’m not the person you married. I’m not young anymore. And I  _will_  get fat; I know I eat too many sweets at dinner, Una always teases me for it. And I won’t look the same anymore; I’ll get old, and have winkles—

“Everyone gets wrinkles, little roebuck,” he said, bringing a hand up to cup my face, though he didn’t force me to look up at him. “It is part of aging—a part of life. And I can assure you, no matter what happens, that I will always find you attractive.”

When I didn’t answer, he continued, pressing me.

“Do you find me less so? Do you mind my wrinkles? The gray in my hair? Will I be barred from making love to you when my hair thins and age spots cover the backs of my hands?”

“Never,” I said, unable to remain silent after such questions. “I’ll always love you. Always.”

His thumb stroked the side of my face gently before he lowered his own.

“And I will always love you,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against mine before tilting his head and capturing my lips in a slow, earnest kiss.

“Do you believe me?” he asked, pressing the words against my mouth as he continued to kiss me, his fingers now stroking along my neck and ear, making me shiver.

“I want to,” I said, hating how miserable my voice sounded.

“Then allow me to prove to you how attractive I still find you,” he said, his other hand now pulling my own undertunic free, so he could slide his palm up over my belly and chest. “How deeply I still love you.”

He continued to stroke my skin as he kissed me, and I was quite as helpless as ever in his arms. He pulled me free from my tunic and undertunic, and soon was laying me back against the bed. His movements were slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing over every part of me, as if to prove how much he still desired my body. He even kissed me in places he didn’t normally kiss me, and I almost thought he would go down further—he did that rarely, and though I liked it, it embarrassed me fiercely—but he didn’t. Instead, he gazed into my eyes as he made love to me, and told me what my body made him feel, what it did to his own. He pressed more kisses against my hot skin, and when I finally came, it was with the knowledge that I did so because  _he_  wanted me to—that he alone would be the one to see me in the throws of pleasure, and that it was his body that had brought me there.

And I, of course, was afforded the same privilege, as I watched him succumb to his own pleasure, his body stiffening briefly over mine before he shuddered, a breathy moan escaping him. He braced himself, so that he wouldn’t collapse on top of me, and shifted carefully beside me, rolling over onto his back and breathing deeply.

I couldn’t help it. I started crying.

He understood, as he always did, and instead of questioning me, he pulled me close to him, allowing me to bury my face into his chest. I was so overwhelmed in that moment, as people often are after sharing something so intimate, but this was different. I couldn’t believe that I ever,  _ever_  doubted him. And yet I was overcome with joy, reassurance and relief thrumming through me.

He loved me, just as I knew he had, just as he always had. And just as he always would.

“Don’t you have to go back down,” I asked, sniffing, once I’d finally gotten myself under control.

“Lia and Hellina will handle it,” he said. “And I will speak to the man tomorrow. I’ll apologize, if necessary, though as our business had, for the most part, already concluded this afternoon, I do not think he can have taken much offense.”

I was silent for a long time, wondering if I, too, ought to apologize—not to the merchant, but to my husband, for ever having doubted him in the first place.

I took a deep breath, my fingers curling slightly against his skin.

“I should…” I hated how small my voice sounded. I was never very good at apologizing. “I should say I’m sorry, too. And I am. I shouldn’t have…”

“Hush,” he said, shifting to wrap his arm around me. “You have nothing to apologize for. At least not to me.” He chuckled, the warm sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Lia, however, will likely be another matter.”

I sighed, and tried not to think about the firm talking-to I was likely to receive from Galmar’s wife tomorrow morning. I no doubt fully deserved it—but I supposed it was a fair exchange, in a way, for everything that had happened tonight.

And if I ate an extra tart tomorrow morning at breakfast, and gave my husband’s waist a delicious squeeze as I kissed him before we separated for the day, I don’t think I can really be blamed. 


	20. Auren 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Blackwall x Auren Lavellan
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: These two idiots have already slept together, but something happened to prevent them from actually going forward with their relationship. (Hint: Probably Auren). They've gone back to being cautious friends, for now.
> 
> Summary: _Blackwall and Auren are forced to share the same bed at a local tavern._

Auren paused in the doorway to the room they’d rented, too exhausted to be truly angry when Blackwall stopped abruptly before him, blocking the entry.

“What?” he asked, moving around the older man and tossing his pack aside.

Then he stopped, too.

Now they were _both_ staring at the single bed in the corner of the room. The _only_ single bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” said Blackwall, tossing his own things aside before moving to unbuckle his sword belt.

Auren rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed so he could pull his boots off.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “We can share it.”

He looked up again after a moment, when there was no response forthcoming. Blackwall was looking down at him with an unreadable expression, his lips pressing slightly together.

Auren arched a brow up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Blackwall shrugged and turned away to continue disrobing.

Auren frowned but did the same. He was too tired to put up with the older man’s moodiness. He unbuckled his own belt and laid it and his daggers aside, keeping a smaller one by the bedside table, of course, just in case. Next came his leather gauntlets, then his tunic and the light mail underneath it. It was still dreadfully hot despite the late hour, so he pulled his undertunic off as well, then shucked off his leather trousers before pushing back the covers of the bed and lying down against the mattress.

A few minutes later, Blackwall joined him, the bed creaking under his weight.

It was still so hot. Auren had pulled the sheet up to his chest, resting his arms over it as he gazed up into the darkness. Blackwall was lying on his side, facing away from him. He turned his head slightly, idly gazing at the other man’s solid form. It didn’t take long for his breathing to even out, and soon light snores were softly filling the room.

Auren rolled his eyes and snorted.

He drifted in and out of sleep. He’d feel the slow dredges of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of his mind, only to be jerked back awake, his eyes blinking in the darkness. Blackwall’s bulk beside him mocked him with its nearness. Large, warm… the heat had faded, the room almost chilly now, yet he stubbornly refused to slip his arms under the sheets. Suppose he finally grew comfortable, started to fall asleep. Only to wake up in the morning to find himself curled up against his bedmate’s broad, warm back, face buried in his hair?

No. He’d forfeit his fucking life before he let that happen. Inquisition be damned. Harding could find a new scout. Her best agent had succumbed to a self-inflicted wound, willing to commit the ultimate sacrifice rather than risk being caught cuddling.

He snorted again, this time at himself.

He wasn’t sure how many hours passed before the person beside him breathed deeply and seemed to shift a little. After a moment, the covers were thrown back. He watched in the darkness as the older man shuffled out of bed and went across the room to make use of the toilet.

Auren thought about closing his eyes and feigning sleep when he returned, but then he decided not to bother. Instead, he watched him silently, wondering if Blackwall would notice. Perhaps _shem_ eyes weren’t as good as elven eyes.

He tried not to smile when Blackwall finally started, already half in bed again.

“You’re awake?” he asked.

Auren shrugged, fully knowing he probably couldn’t see the gesture.

Blackwall was silent for a moment, then he sighed. Heavily.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said, turning away.

Auren closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists. Humans were _so stupid_ sometimes.

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor, you big fucking idiot!”

He opened his eyes again, mildly surprised that he had been the one to shout those words. Judging from Blackwall’s expression, so was he.

“You don’t,” he finally said. “So then you…”

Auren was tired. He didn’t want to deal with this kind of bullshit right now. Stupid, fucking, _human_ bullshit.

He sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbow, and reached up, curling his hand around Blackwall’s neck and bringing the other man’s lips down to his own.

He’d forgotten about the beard. It prickled against his face, scratching his chin and the sides of his mouth. But the kiss itself made all of that irrelevant. Blackwall seemed to take the hint—Auren suddenly had an arm snaking around his bare back, and then the older man began to settle heavily over him as they kissed. He was panting heavily when they separated, and he just knew there was going to be more talking. That wasn’t a human thing, per se, just a people thing. He wasn’t overly fond of either.

“So we’re doing this then,” said Blackwall. Mythal damn him, he sounded amused.

“What do _you_ think?” he snapped back, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Blackwall chuckled, then shifted his weight slightly. Auren pressed his lips together, suppressing the intake of breath the movement caused him.

“Just wanted to check,” he said.

Auren huffed under his breath.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

Blackwall just laughed and kissed him again.


	21. Casien 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Time: These two are very new here; i.e. this is baby Casien (aged 20), only a few weeks into their new relationship.
> 
> Summary: _In which Ulfric can’t even say the word “cock.”_

“I love the way my cock feels inside you,” he murmured, lips nipping at the sensitive lobe of my ear, and I couldn’t help it—I felt my entire face bloom red.

I can only imagine what expression I was wearing, because he immediately stopped—I’d gone quite still, too—and blinked down at me.

“Casien? What’s wrong?”

I literally felt as if my skin were on fire. Sex with him was already embarrassing enough; now he had to start  _talking_  about it while we were doing it?

“Have I hurt you?” he asked, and the dawning horror on his face made me hastily wave my own hands, shaking my head ‘no.’

“No! It’s not that. It’s just…” I cringed, feeling myself blush even harder, if that were even possible. “That word, it’s just so… crass?”

He frowned down at me, clearly confused.

“Which word?”

Blessed Azura. I was going to have to say it. To HIM. While his was  _still inside me._

I groaned and finally gave into my humiliation, covering my face completely with both hands.

“Cock,” I said.

I knew I’d done something terribly wrong when I felt him slowly ease out of me before shifting to lie beside me. When I peaked up at him, he looked… flustered. Frustrated, confused—probably wondering if his lover were, in fact, a witless child after all.

“Sorry?” I said, my voice going oh so tiny in my throat.

He sighed and rubbed his face. Then, after a moment, he reached for one of my hands with his and pulled it gently from my face.

He stared at me for a moment, then:

“Cock,” he said.

I must have winced—and flushed again—because the look he gave me then was the most deadpan he’d ever given me before.

“I cannot say  _cock_ ,” he said.

“I’m not saying you can’t say it!” I said, anxious. “It just… took me by surprise. And… you’ve never talked before.”

“Before?”

“While we were… doing this, I mean.”

“Having sex.”

Okay, in fairness, it had only been one week since we’d arrived back at Windhelm. This was all still honestly so new to me. First there was the way people looked at me, the way they treated me, talked to me. Then there was the fact that I didn’t have to hide my feelings anymore, and he didn’t have to hide his either.

And then there was this.

“Um,” I said, looking sideways as though suddenly greatly interested in the pattern of wood on the bedpost. “Yeah, that.”

I felt a gentle pair of fingers touch my warm cheek and ‘force’ me to turn my head so that my eyes would meet his again.

“Casien Yedlin,” he said, and I was relieved to hear amusement, not anger, rumbling in his voice, “Your shyness is adorable. But I’m afraid I am going to have to cure you of it.”

I swallowed the little whimper of trepidation—and perhaps anticipation—before it could escape me.

“Cure me?”

“Yes.” The smile he gave me then was downright cheeky. “With my cock.”

I groaned and hid my face behind my hands again. He laughed, and I lowered my hands just a little so I could watch him, for he so rarely laughed, and to me, at least, it was a beautiful sight.

He smirked when he caught me staring.

“Hmm. Are you ready?” he asked. He leaned over me again, pushing his knee gently between my legs, forcing me open again.

“For what?” I asked.

“For me to slip my cock back inside you,” he said, making me inhale sharply as he did just that. His lips nibbled a path along my jaw before sucking against my neck. “For me to make love to you until you moan with pleasure. For me to make you come…”

“You’re a bad man,” I said, unable to suppress the whimper that slipped out of me this time as he took me in hand and began to stroke me in time with his own lazy thrusts. “Bad… I ren-nounce our engagement… ahh!”

I wish I could say my shyness were ever after completely cured, but I really can’t. Which I’m sure gave him no shortage of amusement and pleasure.

But then, I suppose that rather worked to my advantage, too.


	22. Casien 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Time: Several years post-marriage
> 
> Summary: _Ulfric suggests trying something new in bed. Casien isn't so sure._

I barely glanced up from my book when my husband exited the bath, robe tied loosely around his waist. I could tell from his gait that he was in pain and resisted the urge to shake my head. There was no point in reminding him that once his back started to hurt, pushing himself beyond his limits would only make things worse. And Galmar egging him on in the yard didn’t help matters, either.

He eased himself down on the bed beside me, sighing heavily.

I reached over and gave his back a little pat.

“Don’t,” he said into the pillow.

I rolled my eyes.

“I didn’t say anything.”

I returned to my book, curling my knees up a little as I slid back against the pillow. I think he even started to fall asleep before the sudden idea came to me that I might offer to give him a massage. I had finally convinced Hellina to bring in a specialist to give us a few lessons, so now she, I, Una, and Hasan were all allegedly experts.

'Allegedly' being the key word, of course, as I’d yet to try the technique out on my husband.

“Hey,” I said, laying my book aside and trying not to sound too excited. “Would you like a back rub?”

He breathed in deeply without opening his eyes before letting out a little noncommittal hum. I chose to interpret that as ‘yes.’

Excited, I reached for the oil by the bedside table, then crawled back towards him.

“You have to take your robe off,” I said.

I set the oil down, and reached to pull it off him; he shifted a little, albeit never lifting his head from the pillow, allowing me to slide it all the way off. He was naked, of course, but I was still fully clothed, so I didn’t think I was suggesting anything beyond what I was offering. Not that things couldn’t progress in that direction—we were already in bed, after all—but, well, my intentions, at least, were pure.

I pushed my nerves to the side—I had never practiced on an actual person before—and moved to settle myself on his bottom, my knees straddling him. Well, he was my husband, after all, and it would make rubbing his lower back all the easier.

“Interesting beginning,” he rumbled.

“Okay, I’m going to start,” I said. “Tell me if it feels good. Or if it doesn’t. You can tell me that, too.”

“Mm.”

So I began. I poured a copious amount of oil—probably too much—into the palm of my left hand, then rubbed it between both my hands before pressing them hesitantly down against his lower back. I started to move my hands in the way the instructor had taught me, kneading with my thumb and fingers while occasionally pressing the heels of my hands into his back. He was silent, at first, leaving me vaguely concerned that my efforts were less than satisfactory. But the first low groan of pleasure my ministrations managed to wrangle out of him left me beaming with smug happiness.

I renewed my efforts with vigor. I began to take pleasure in the smooth feel of skin sliding beneath my own, the way his body gave before my rolling and pressing. I shifted upward a little, massaging his middle and upper back as well, and even squeezing my fingers into his shoulders. All the while, he sighed and groaned, the sound vibrating up through his body and into mine.

My sleep pants were now stained with the oil, but that was all right. I shifted back down to his bottom, and I had to admit—I was a little turned on. Maybe more than a little. But this wasn’t about me, I thought firmly. This was about relieving his pain, and showing off the new technique I had learned. (All right. So I suppose it was a _little_ about me.)

I got the idea then to shift lower, down to the back of his thighs, and begin to press my oily fingers into the flesh of his ass. I was sure he’d enjoy this, but to my surprise, he got rather quiet. I paused, suddenly hit with a wave of self-doubt.

“Is this all right?” I asked.

“Very all right,” he replied, and his voice was quite husky.

“Oh,” I murmured, a bit flummoxed.

He chuckled beneath me.

“Hm. Would you like to try something?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, curious.

“You already have the oil in your hands. And I believe we are both rather well positioned.”

 It took me a moment to realize what he was suggesting. When I did, I felt myself bloom hot—not just my face, but it felt as if my entire body were suddenly suffused with warmth.

“Do you not wish to try?”

And I honestly don’t know what sort of mood had come over him. But—he actually wiggled his ass slightly, forcing me to stare down at it, naturally.

“But…” I searched—Nine knew why—vainly for a reason to turn him down, to tell him he was being ridiculous and I couldn’t possibly—!

“I’ve never… done that before,” I admitted, blushing again, and I don’ t know why I was so embarrassed to say that aloud. After all, we had been together for years now. He obviously knew what I had and hadn’t done in bed.

“It requires some skill, at first,” he said. “But I think you will enjoy it. Now, your hands are already prepared. You can, if you like, slide one finger inside me.”

I was momentarily, literally paralyzed before I finally forced myself to move. I rested my left hand hesitantly on the left side of his ass before slowly, hesitantly, slipping the fingers of my right hand between the crease, and—oh.

The oil really did help.

“Like this?” I asked, and I honestly felt very silly for even asking. It wasn’t as if it were difficult.

“Yes,” he said, clearly wishing to reassure me.

His breathing had also become noticeably more ragged.

“You may slip in another, if you like,” he said after a moment.

This was so incredibly dirty. An absolutely absurd thought considering he did this to _me_ on an almost daily basis. Well, not so much with the fingers, although sometimes. But I truly thought of that part of my body as belonging to him—something I had given to him, and given gladly, and that was just how we made love. And I _loved it_. But this…

“I think I am ready,” he said, and he really was breathing more heavily now. “Take more oil, and pour it on yourself now.”

“On myself?”

There was a brief, amused silence, then:

“On your cock, Casien.”

I groaned.

“You just had to say it, didn’t you,” I huffed.

“Yes.”

I didn’t bother pushing my sleep pants all the way down, only enough so I could free myself and take myself in hand. Once I was suitably oiled, he lazily tossed a couple of pillows down towards me and bid that I slide them under his hips. Once I did, he then told me to try and insert myself inside him.

I gasped—and whimpered, my left hand resting on his hip squeezing reflexively.

“It’s tight,” I said, almost as if it were something terrible, and wasn’t even now introducing me to an intensity of pleasure I had never before experienced. It wasn’t _better_ than what we usually did, but it was certainly _different_.

“Yes,” he agreed, and he shifted a little, helping me, I think, until I slid all the way in to the hilt.

“Is this okay?” I asked in a strangled voice. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d said it wasn’t.

“You may begin,” he said, and again, I could hear the amusement in his voice, albeit mixed with ragged desire.

So I began. I don’t think it came as much of a surprise to either of us that I didn’t last very long. I knew from my own experience as his lover that there were ways he made us both last—he touched me, kissed me, stroked me, lessened or quickened his pace, subtly shifted our positions—but I was too much of a novice to consider any of these things. Once I began, it was impossible to stop. And before I knew it, I was crying out, shaking, emptying myself inside him.

I half fell on top of him, panting and still shaking slightly. The action caused me to slide out of him, and I probably made a bit of a mess on the sheets, but I supposed it didn’t much matter at that point. There was already oil everywhere.

After a few seconds passed, during which I managed to catch my breath, my ragged heartbeat finally beginning to slow again, he began to shift, groaning slightly—his back gave a quiet little pop—until he was belly up. I had slid off of him slightly, to his left side, by I couldn’t help blinking in shock, for he was—!

“You didn’t…!”

I felt the absolute lowest of the low. For there before me was the sight of my husband’s throbbing, very erect—well, he was very aroused, I suppose is all I should really say.

He laughed, the sound so warm and sweet it managed to chase away all my insecurities.

“Relax, little roebuck,” he teased. “This is normal. Though perhaps you might help me finish what was started.”

He bid me to come to him, so I did, crawling into his embrace and sighing as I lay atop him, kissing him. He found the oil, and prepared himself, then helped me disrobe before encouraging me to slide onto him, so that I could ride him until he reached his release. This, at least, I was well practiced in, and he even managed to bring me to my own second release before I collapsed back into his arms, both of us panting for breath.

We lay quietly together for some time, though after a while he began to stroke his fingers through my hair, nuzzling my face with his own, as was his wont. I felt very sleepy all of a sudden, and no wonder—that had all been quite an adventure.

I sighed, contently, my whole body relaxing into his.

“Did you like your massage,” I mumbled happily into his neck.

“I did.”

I smiled and curled up against him. The bed was a mess, and we were both naked, lying atop the covers, but I don’t think either of us was capable of caring at the moment. I wasn’t long for the waking world, and soon my eyelids drooped closed, and I fell in a deep, contended sleep.


	23. Casien 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: University AU! In which Ulfric is a history professor, and Casien is a 21 year old university student.
> 
> Summary: _Ulfric is tired from staying up too late. The last thing he expects is for a particularly charming student of his to visit him in his office._

Ulfric sat down at his desk with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, listening absently to the sounds from the quad outside that were filtering in through his open office window.

He was tired. He was up late last night grading, and then for some reason he decided to start working on the midterm exam. Then Galmar had called to ask if he could come watch the game at his house, since Lia was having some “poncy fucking shindig” with her friends, and really, Ulfric suspected he just wanted an excuse to leave the house. So he had agreed, because he felt sorry for a man who had a wife and five daughters and thus couldn’t even watch a sporting event in his own house, even if he also somehow envied him that life. Then, naturally, he couldn’t finish working on the exam until Galmar had left, and before he knew it, it was half past one.

And he had an eight o’clock the next morning.

He almost fell asleep, the lecture he’d just given still rambling along in his head (only far more interesting than the original, with fewer students asleep at their desks) when there was a knock at his door.

He snorted a little, lifting his head and blinking before breathing in and rubbing his face.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened, almost tentatively, and he almost began to crane his head to the side to see who it was, but then the young man finally revealed himself.

Ulfric sat up a little bit, absently tugging at his tie.

“Hello, Professor,” said the young man, who was a student in his eight o’clock class that sat in the very first row, and never, ever fell asleep during any of his lectures.

“Yes,” said Ulfric. He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you…?”

“Casien,” said the student quickly.

He blinked.

“Yes, I know. Mr. Yedlin.” An A-student who gave very thoughtful and long-winded (if not overly compelling or revolutionary) responses on his exams. “I was simply…” He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “My apologies. I’m a little tired this morning.” He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk. “Please have a seat.”

The young man closed the door gently behind him before sort of tiptoeing further into the office and taking a seat. He sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, his eyes darting from one bookshelf to another. Ulfric supposed his office was rather a mess at present, stacks of exams nearly toppling over, abandoned coffee mugs left here and there.

“Did you have a question about this morning’s lecture?” he finally asked.

Casien started before looking at him. He seemed, of all things, to blush before lowering his eyes. His reticence wasn’t unusual, as Ulfric was used to students being nervous around him. He’d grown tired of attempting to alleviate their anxieties. It was hardly in the job description.

“Not really,” said Casien.

Ulfric waited, but when no further response was given—

“About the essay?” he prodded.

He’d assigned an essay a couple of days ago. It would surprise him to learn that Casien Yedlin, of all students, would have any issues with the topic, but then, perhaps he shouldn’t put the young man on such a pedestal. He was clearly very smart, but, after all, couldn’t be more than 20 or so. He was hardly the confident writer he was now at that age.

“Oh, no,” said Casien, and it was if a switch had been flipped, for he suddenly seemed to come to life. “I’ve already started working on it, actually. I was going to compare Johnson’s take on the rise of the middle-class in the early modern era to…”

But then his voice sort of trailed off, and that blush spread over his nose again.

Ulfric frowned.

“Yes?” he asked.

The topic wasn’t anything special or unique. It was perfectly fine for an undergraduate response paper, and he had no doubt would earn the young man an “A,” but it did get tiresome, sometimes, reading such elementary takes on oh so very complicated issues. But he certainly didn’t hold that against his students.

Certainly not this one.

Casien’s lips parted ever so slightly, and he lowered his gaze—he appeared to be taking a deep, fortifying breath.

“I’m dropping your class,” he said.

Ulfric blinked.

“What?”

Casien seemed to wilt under his startled exclamation. It made him almost feel guilty—he had no wish to make the young man even more nervous than he clearly already was.

“I…” If possible, Casien seemed to blush even harder, his right hand was now gripping the leather strap of the book bag slung over his shoulder. “Oh god.” He closed his eyes, seeming to take another breath. “I’ll kill Eleanor if this doesn’t work.”

He opened his eyes again, and swallowed.

“I’m dropping your class because Article 16, Section 12.1 of the student handbook says that no student is permitted to fraternize or otherwise engage in romantic relations with a faculty or staff member of the university. And therefore, I’m…”

He cursed under his breath and reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts, pulling out a little slip of paper which had clearly been read many times. He unfolded it and, holding it with both shaking hands, began to read.

“ _Dear Professor Stormcloak. I’m 21 years old. My…”_ He paused and looked up. “Sorry. I just wanted to get that part out of the way. People sometimes think I’m younger than I… um.” He looked back down at the paper in his hands. “ _My name is Casien Yedlin._ ” He looked up again. “I didn’t know if you knew my name or not.”

“I do,” Ulfric said, for he could think of no other response to give.

Casien nodded before continuing to read.

“ _I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I love your class, I really do. I love history. I loved it before I started taking your class, and I think I love it even more now. I love how you talk about these kings and queens and poets and statesmen like they’re people, like we can all really imagine them being alive and doing the things they did. I like how you help me see them not just as figures in a book but as people who were sometimes brave, but also sometimes really awful, just like real people._ ”

He looked up, and all Ulfric could do was nod. It was a very… kind assessment of his lectures.

Even he didn’t think they were _that_ interesting.

Casien went back to his letter, though he also began to pause and stutter over the next part.

“ _But what I liked most about your class was getting to see you every day. The thing is, Professor, I like you. I know it’s really presumptuous of me, and I’m an absolute nobody, and probably seem really young and stupid to you, but I would still like to get to know you anyway, and I thought, maybe you would like to get to know me, too. I think you’re incredibly smart, and you look… really great in a blazer. And I noticed when you cut your hair. I think you looked really handsome before, but you look just as handsome now. I love your voice, and the way you move your hands when you talk._ ”

He looked up once again. His face was thoroughly red now, though he seemed surprisingly calm.

“Does this… do you think this seems creepy?” he asked.

Ulfric couldn’t stop the little smile he felt beginning to curl on his face. He also could feel a faint warmth rising to his cheeks, but hopefully his beard would disguise it.

“I… do not,” he said.

The beatific smile that spread over the young man’s face made his heart almost turn over in his chest.

It wasn’t as if he’d never noticed him before. He was there every day, after all—it was a summer course—and always looked so eager. And he was, if Ulfric was quite honest with himself, rather adorable. He had freckles dotting his round cheeks, and large brown eyes, and quite an abundance of dark, curling hair. Several times, they had lingered after class, and he had indulged a series of questions on whatever it was he had just lectured on. Casien was charming, and clever, and sweet, and—his student. His very _young_ student.

He may have mentioned as much to Galmar once or twice, usually after several beers.

Casien cleared his throat, the sound drawing Ulfric back to the present.

“ _In conclusion, this is why I have decided to drop your class. I hope this doesn’t create any sort of awkwardness between us, and if you truly aren’t interested, I will understand. I promise I won’t be hurt, and, with your permission, I will sign up for your class again in the Fall. Even despite my feelings for…_ ” He faltered, blushing a little more, and appeared to be making a hasty edit to his own words. “ _Even despite what I think about you, I do still enjoy having you as a teacher, and I will absolutely work hard to earn a good grade in your class._ ”

He lowered the paper then, and seemed to let out a deep breath. Then he looked up, their eyes meeting again.

“That’s it,” he said. “I… thought it would be easier to get out if I wrote it down. My friends said it was a dumb idea, but…” He shrugged

Ulfric shifted in his chair, unsure of how he should respond. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. Oh, he had had the uncomfortably suggestive email or two from a female student, but he simply forwarded them to the dean and kept his own responses as professional as possible. Nothing had ever come of any of it. But this… _this_ was new territory for him.

“What do you think?” Casien asked, and it was clear to see that he was once again a nervous wreck.

Ulfric shifted again.

“I am… very flattered,” he said.

Casien sat forward a little, his expression hopeful.

“But… I’m not certain this would be entirely appropriate. I would have to speak to… that is, I am your professor, and even if you _have_ dropped the class, I do not believe it would be right for me to take advantage of…”

He trailed off, for the way the young man’s face had fallen so completely, so utterly, at his awkward rejection was nearly enough to squeeze his heart in two. An awkward silence fell between them. Then Casien pressed his lips together and, looking down, gave a jerky little nod.

He stood up, quickly.

“Thank you for listening to me, Professor,” he said, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Ulfric watched him turn to leave. His hands were shaking again, as he gripped the strap of his bag with one hand while reaching for the door handle with the other. His face was also almost fire engine red. And Ulfric genuinely could not get over how much he wanted to rest his palm there, to feel just how hot the young man’s skin was, and to see if he could even make him blush harder, though for far pleasanter reasons.

“Wait,” he said, standing up.

Casien turned, the door half-open. Their eyes met.

“Saturday,” he said.

A tiny smile blipped its way across the young man’s lovely face.

“Saturday?”

Ulfric frowned and reached down to awkwardly shuffle a stack of exams.

“Yes,” he said. “If that is… if it would be acceptable. To you.” He cursed himself silently, inwardly berating himself for being such an utter fool about this. True, he hadn’t been out in an awfully long time, but this was absurd. “There is a coffee shop, not far from school,” he continued. “King’s Coffee, I think it’s called. We could have breakfast.”

Casien beamed back at him.

“I’d like that,” he said. “What time? Oh! I’ll text you my number.”

Ulfric looked around, searching wildly for his phone, which, of course, was never where he’d last left it. It didn’t hang in his pocket, perpetually attached to his body the way these young people tended to carry their phones. Finally, he located it under another stack of papers, and gave Casien his number. A second later, a text from an unknown number popped up:

_Hi :)_

He smiled a little at the text, then lowered his phone.

“I will see you Saturday,” he said, nodding.

Casien nodded, then gave a little wave and a smile before hurrying—escaping, really—out his office door.

As soon as it closed, he sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. After a moment, he picked up his phone again and quickly texted Galmar.

_I have a date._

The reply was almost instant:

_And I care because._

He frowned and rolled his eyes. _It’s with him_ , he replied, feeling his face warm at the admission. God, he was never going to hear the end of this. _The student._

The three dotted lines appeared and were there for a moment before the response finally came through:

_Fucking finally._

Ulfric sighed and tossed the phone aside before leaning back and closing his eyes.

After a moment, a small smile came to his face.

And if he couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day, well, he was scarcely the one to blame.


	24. Casien 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: Several years post-marriage
> 
> Summary: _Casien receives some unpleasant news, and all he wants is to be left alone so he can try and sort things out in his head. But it seems good kings don't let little roebucks suffer alone._

The sound of approaching footsteps immediately stoked my ire.

I had only been out here for an hour, and already I’d had to send two servants back to the palace. The first had been sent by Una, the second by Lia. Apparently, I had missed dinner, and this was great call for alarm amongst my family, despite the fact that we had no one of import to entertain tonight.

Yet the footsteps were strangely heavier than a servant’s, and the pace was slower than usual. A soldier, then. Did the others think I was so defenseless that I needed protection even out here? I was far from the sparyard, well beyond the stables, but the entire area was bound by a stone wall, and there was nothing between it and me now save for a few trees.

The footsteps paused, and the shadow of my would-be bodyguard loomed over me.

I sighed, my teeth grinding together.

“Can’t they just leave me in peace…?”

The words died on my tongue, however, as I looked up and saw the face of my husband gazing thoughtfully down at me.

I blinked, surprised.

“May I sit down?” he asked after a moment.

It was an absurd question. He was the jarl; he could do whatever he liked. This was  _his_  yard, after all. Nevertheless, I pressed my lips together, my eyes dropping to his boots. I’d come out here because I wanted to be alone.

But I couldn’t very well send him away when he’d come all this way.

“Fine,” I said.

He lowered himself to the ground then, sitting back against the tree I was leaning against. It was a very large spruce, our shoulders and thighs didn’t even touch. I was sitting with my legs crossed, my arms resting listlessly in my lap. He stretched his own legs out with a faint sigh, shifting a little until he was comfortable.

He made no move to touch me or question me further.

“Did you eat?” I asked after a while.

“Not yet. We may dine together in our room, if you like.”

I frowned, my mouth twisting irritably.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, though that wasn’t necessarily true. No matter how upset I was, skipping meals wasn’t really something I did.

“I see.”

He pulled something from his inside pocket, then—he wore a light, fur-trimmed jacket, and I quietly envied him for it, for it was growing rather chilly—something wrapped in a brown cloth. I watched as he unfolded it, revealing, in his palm, a handful of—

“Toffees!” I exclaimed before I could stop myself.

“Yes,” he said, clearly feigning disappointment. “It is too bad you are not hungry.”

I speared him with an angry look before grabbing the toffees from him. My eyes closed almost automatically as the first candy touched my tongue. I leaned my head back against the trunk of the tree and sighed.

I wondered who he had sent to town to get them. Or perhaps someone in the kitchens had been ordered to make them. I should have felt guilty, but really, they were just too good.

I stopped after my fourth one, carefully folding the rest back up. A gust of wind flew over the yard just then, coming down from the tops of the mountains to the north. I couldn’t resist shivering a little, and I knew he’d noticed.

This was a losing battle.

“I had a letter,” I finally said, hearing the defeat in my voice. “From my aunt.”

That got his attention.

“Your aunt,” he repeated. I could feel him gazing at my face, probably trying to gauge my feelings on the matter. I suppose his concern made sense considering the last time I had talked about my aunt I’d been sobbing my eyes out.

“Yes,” I said. “She wants to come and see me. Seems she’s learned who I am and what’s become of me.”

He was silent, and I’m sure he was reaching the same conclusion I had.

“Do you wish to see her?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“No. Not really. In fact, if I never see her again I think I could die a happy man.”

My jaw clenched, and my hands balled themselves into fists. After a moment, however, I felt one of his own hands settle over one of mine. I opened my eyes—I hadn’t realized I’d closed them—and gazed down at it. His hand was so much bigger than my own, pale, yet browned from being in the sun. The callouses of his fingertips brushed against the backs of my own fingers.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

I didn’t want to cry over this. I suppose that’s part of why I wanted to be alone. My aunt didn’t deserve any more tears from me, anymore hurt feelings. All I wished from  _her_  was to be left alone. She’d turned her back on me, and surely that now gave me the right to do the same to her.

“Whatever you choose to do,” he said. “I will support you.”

“Even if I invite her here?” I asked, my voice bitter. “Your husband’s dirty, greedy, gray-skin family. She’ll beg you for coin, you know. Everyone will see.”

“I am not ashamed of you, nor of your family.”

I felt my chin begin to tremble. I was too hard on him sometimes. He had never, ever given any indication that he saw me as lesser because of who or what I was or where I’d come from. To even suggest that he would was—well, it was beneath me. It was beneath us both, and what the two of us now meant to one another.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

His hand over mine gave a gentle squeeze. I looked down, closing my eyes, but then I felt his other hand on my cheek, cradling my face. His thumb brushed a tear from beneath my eyelashes.

“Casien,” he said.

I breathed in, trying to regain control of my feelings. His hand on my cheek nudged me gently, so that I turned to finally look up at him. He had already shifted more closely. He leaned down, then, and kissed me. I closed my eyes again and breathed him in as we kissed.

I lowered my head afterward, tucking my face into his neck. He put his arm all the way around me, holding me to him. He was so warm.

“I’m not going to answer it,” I said after a while. My words were probably a bit muffled but he seemed to understand.

I felt his lips press briefly against my temple.

“Come inside,” he finally said. “Please.”

It was more cold than chilly now. I nodded, and we both stood. I didn’t say anything when he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around me, but I must have made a face because the look he gave me was verging on chastising.

“Put it on,” he said. “Do not make me dress you as if you were Emrik”

I made a face again, but did as he asked, shrugging so I could push my arms through the over-sized arm holes. The fur around the neck swallowed me, and the sleeves went past the tips of my fingers.

“Can’t you see how creepy it is to compare your husband to a baby?” I huffed.

“Mm. I am also your king. Obedience is hardly optional.” I started to roll my eyes, but then he added: “Do not think I won’t put you over my knee.”

I almost tripped over a tree root. The scandalized look I gave him must have been something, for he burst out laughing. The sound carried over the yard, causing some of the soldiers not far from us to look up in wonder.

I flushed and pulled the jacket more tightly around me.

“You’re a terrible husband,” I muttered.

But he only laughed again, and put his arm around me, pulling me gently to him as we made our way back to the palace.

That night, I burned my aunt’s letter. I watched her words blacken and curl up into nothingness, and though it did not make me feel much better, the warm, waiting presence of my husband as I crawled back into bed did. 


	25. Casien 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: Several years post-marriage
> 
> Summary: _The king has been working later and later hours, and Casien is tired of going to bed alone every night. Galmar's daughter Una convinces him to finally do something about it._

“He goes to bed at  _midnight_?”

Una paused to button her top back up before handing baby Emrik off to me. I grabbed him perhaps a bit too eagerly before setting him carefully over the cloth on my shoulder and patting his little back.

I shrugged when she looked at me again.

“He’s been really busy,” I said. “He even leaves earlier in the mornings. There’s just a lot going on right now, with the new taxes, the bridge construction, and the mayors’ upcoming visit.”

Una frowned.

“Still. I’d strangle Hasan if he spent so little time with me.”

“That’s different,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You guys are parents now. Plus Hasan has Ania and Galmar to help him.”

“And Uncle has Jorleif and Mother,” said Una. “Not to mention you. Sorry, but it’s no excuse.” She watched me for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “In fact, I think it’s high time you do something about it. Put your foot down for once.”

I blinked, a faint feeling of trepidation coming over me.

“What did you have in mind?”

She smiled.

//

_And if he’s not in your apartment by 10 o’clock sharp, you go and find him. And you MAKE him come._

_But—he’s the KING! I can’t just—_

_You MAKE him._

Una’s words repeated themselves over and over in my head as I paced the bedroom nervously, my eyes darting repeatedly towards the Dwemer clock on the mantle. 9:51. 9:55. 9:58.

I winced as the hand finally moved into place with a mechanical  _click_  and glanced anxiously at the door. But I knew no one would be coming. The same thing had happened the previous night, and the night before that. My husband and I used to spend our evenings together; sometimes his day would even be finished at the conclusion of dinner, and we’d have a whole two or three hours to spend together. But not lately.

I took a deep breath. Una was right. It was time to put my foot down.

The guard standing at attention near the door looked surprised when he saw me. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“This ends  _tonight_ ,” I said.

He blinked.

I made my way past him, skirting the main stairs for my usual route and using the servants’ stairs to make my way down.

Jorleif’s office was, not surprisingly, empty. The door to the jarl’s office was closed.

I knocked.

“Yes?”

I opened the door and entered, closing it behind me.

“Casien!” He looked up from his desk at me in surprise. “Is everything all right?”

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“When are you coming upstairs?” 

He sighed, heavily, one hand coming to rub at his forehead.

“Not any time soon, I fear. I have two more letters after this one, and I’ve a meeting tomorrow with the Shatter-Shield matriarch I must prepare for. If I do not—

“By the Three,” I said, suddenly exasperated. “Who CARES?”

He blinked up at me, clearly startled by the interruption. Then he frowned.

“Perhaps you had best return upstairs,” he said, clearly dismissing me. “As I said, it will be sometime before I can join you. You need not wait up.”

When I didn’t move—just stood there, arms still crossed over my chest, staring at him—he looked up again.

“Casien—

“Fine,” I said, shrugging. I came forward, then, and perched myself on the side of his desk, facing him. “I’ll just wait here while you work.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Very well.”

I watched as he dipped pen to ink and began writing again. After a moment, I kicked my shoes off and rested my bare feet on his chair, wedging them between the arm of the chair and his outer thigh. He glanced up at me and frowned but didn’t stop writing.

I turned my foot a little sideways and tickled his thigh with my toes.

He sighed.

“Casien…”

“What?” I asked.

He looked up at me.

I smiled.

I hopped off the desk then and crawled the rest of the way onto his chair, actually swinging my other leg around his legs so that I straddled him, facing him. His arm had shifted automatically to accommodate me, but the frown on his face had deepened, and he did not look pleased.

“Casien,” he said again, his voice a warning.

“Am I distracting you?” I asked.

I squeezed my knees a little, shifting slightly, and leaned lightly against him, my hands between our bodies, fingers curling against the fabric of his tunic, my lips finding his ear and kissing it.

I heard the pen drop from his hand and clatter lightly against the desk, and smiled.

His hands were on my hips now, and he gave me a gentle push back, but there was no real effort there. I squeezed my knees harder, my fingers now clinging to his tunic.

I opened my mouth and lightly bit down on his earlobe.

I felt him give a sharp intake of breath, and seeing as how I was in his lap, pressed up against him, I could tell that he had very much enjoyed that.

I started kissing his jaw now, his beard prickling my lips, working my way towards his own lips.

He sighed, the sounds almost a groan.

“If I promise to come up in half an hour, will you—

I didn’t give him time to finish. My mouth found his, and I kissed him, sliding my tongue inside and teasing it against his own. I pressed against him as we kissed, and he groaned again, his hands sliding from my hips to my rear.

Just then, there was a sharp, sudden knock at the door. I felt his lips still against mine, and he started to pull back, but I wasn’t about to let him answer that, not when I finally had him where I wanted him.

Except, in fairness, the person on the other side of that door didn’t expect anyone else but the jarl to be here. And he’d known the jarl for far too long to bother waiting for permission to enter.

The door opened, and I finally jerked back, turning to stare over my shoulder in alarm.

“Well,” said Galmar, eyeing us both. “Lia sent me down here to tell you to get your ass in bed early for once, but I can see the message has already been received.”

Embarrassed to be caught in such a position, I started to shift quickly, but my husband’s hands on my ass tightened suddenly, forcing me to stay where I was. I blinked at him, then realized, my eyes dropping down below. Oh. I guess he didn’t want Galmar to see  _that_.

“You can tell Lia I will be heading upstairs shortly,” he said, his low, commanding voice slightly huskier than usual.

“I sure as fuck can, and I will,” said Galmar drolly. “Assuming you make it up there in time. Which, from the looks of things, is a bit of a toss-up at present.”

“This is so embarrassing,” I muttered, closing my eyes and leaning my face against his neck.

“And whose fault is that,” he rumbled back.

I heard Galmar snort before apparently turning and leaving, the door closing behind him.

“This is all Una’s fault,” I grumbled, as I slid off his lap and back onto my feet. I was rather uncomfortably aroused myself and shifted a bit awkwardly.

He looked up at me, his lips quirking slightly.

“Go back upstairs,” he said. “I will join you shortly.”

I frowned.

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He gave my bottom a little pat. “Now go.”

I turned to do as he asked, my cheeks already burning a bit at that playful little gesture. I’m quite certain he noticed my reaction, too, for his quiet chuckle followed me out of the room.

I did manage to calm myself down by the time I exited Jorleif’s office. Once back in our bedroom, I sat down on the bed near the oil lamp on the nightstand and tried to read. I couldn’t help glancing at the clock after five minutes, wondering if…

Then I heard the outer door open.

I bit my lip, smiled, and closed my book.


	26. Teddy 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Neramo x Teddy Tyrane
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: Anywhere from several months to a year into their relationship.
> 
> Summary: _Neramo has come to present his latest discovery to the mages' guild. Teddy is here to assist him, as always._

“Stop panicking,” said Teddy, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. “You’re going to do fine.”

“Am I?” asked Neramo, “And you know this  _how_? Really, the most important day of my career, and you’re spouting platitudes!”

He was kneeling down before the large, Dwemer contraption, not even bothering to look up as he spoke. His hands were fluttering far more than usual, too, as he checked this and that part, tapping the control rod with his knuckles, pressing his lips together as he reached in and adjusted something. Teddy could have sworn his voice was at least an octave higher than usual, too.

He couldn’t resist rolling his eyes.

“How is this the most important day of your career?” he asked. “You present to the board like five times a year _,_  a _nd_  we’ve been doing it for the last three years.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to do it at all if the guild would just take my work seriously! Oh, do you think they might lend me an assistant or two? It would really produce a far more dramatic effect if I were across the room once it began to perform.”

Teddy frowned, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I can do it,” he said. “Since I’m, you know,  _your assistant_.”

Neramo waved a hand absently at him.

“Oh, not you; I need someone more competent. One of the mage apprentices, perhaps.”

“I  _AM_  a mage apprentice!” Teddy said.

“Now, now, don’t get so upset. Ah!” He flicked a switch inside the mechanism, and smiled as it stuttered to life, blue light emitting from within.

Just then, the door to the lecture hall opened, and an Altmer woman stuck her head out.

“Neramo? They’re ready for you.”

Neramo sprang back to his feet, his eyes widening and blinking.

“Oh! Already? But I should just like to test it, once or twice more. Do you think there might be time for that?” He had started to twist his hands together, blinking rapidly. “If this fails, all of my research will have been for nothing. And what of my upcoming expedition to those Ayleid ruins? I’ll probably never—”

He went abruptly silent, starting a little, looking down at Teddy—who had just quickly stood on his toes and planted a kiss against the older man’s jaw.

“Oh…” He touched his cheek and made a sort of waving motion with his hand. “Why would you…” He frowned. “Did I  _not_  say you were to be discreet about this? Were those  _not_  my conditions?”

“I was BEING  _discreet_!” Teddy said.

“He was,” agreed the young Altmer woman. “I saw him look both ways before doing it.”

Neramo sighed, then picked up the control rod again. He gave it a little smack, and the Dwemer ‘creature’ started up on its legs, jerking slightly.

He beamed.

“Excellent! Come along, then, my little darling! Let’s show them what we can do!”

The woman watched as he passed her and entered the lecture hall, the spider-like contraption tottering along behind him. She raised an eyebrow at Teddy then.

“Was he talking to you or that… thing?” she asked.

Teddy rolled his eyes again.

“If only there were room enough in his heart for both of us.”

The woman snorted before slipping back inside the lecture hall.

After a moment, Teddy sighed and followed her.

//

The presentation, happily, was a success—not always a sure thing, as these Dwemer contraptions could hardly be called reliable. The senior guild members even stood up and clapped; several actually began calling out questions which Neramo was likely only too eager to answer. He was standing there beside the contraption—which had only needed to be restarted twice—beaming out at the audience, his hands clasped happily before him.

Knowing the post-lecture Q&A session could take some time, Teddy slipped out to use the washroom. He also needed a moment to let out the metaphorical breath he’d been holding for the last hour or so. It was a relief to know their research projects would likely continue to be funded, and no matter how much he personally believed in Neramo’s genius, that funding was never a sure thing.

When he returned, the session was finally over. Senior mages were filing out of the hall, and Neramo was standing there beside the spider contraption talking about something that had him quite animated while two other researchers stood beside him, listening with bemused faces.

Neramo saw him walking towards him, and—lo and behold, a smile came to his face.

Teddy smiled back. Then, before he could stop himself, he was hurrying forward, jumping up to fling his arms around the other man’s neck, pressing a kiss against his no longer smiling mouth.

“Too heavy!” complained Neramo, whose arms had automatically gone around his hips to help hold him up. He wrinkled his nose, turning his face slightly away. “And wet.”

Teddy grinned and lowered himself back down to his own feet.

“Congratulations,” he said. “I knew you could do it.”

“Hm,” came the absent response. “Do you know, I think I may need to stop by the library before we leave. One of the other researchers claims to have seen a tome on Ayleid star charts that I believe would be  _most_  beneficial to our upcoming expedition!”

Teddy just chuckled. He exchanged a little smile with the other researchers before bending to help Neramo disassemble the Dwemer contraption.


	27. Teddy 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Neramo x Teddy Tyrane
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Time: Perhaps a few months into the relationship
> 
> Summary: _Teddy is happy to be in a relationship with Neramo, but is Neramo happy about being with him? It can be a little hard to tell when all your boyfriend seems to care about are Ayleid or Dwemer ruins._

Neramo is always very quiet during sex.

It makes me self-conscious, makes me wonder if I’m even doing everything right—this despite the fact that I’ve had a half-dozen lovers before meeting him and have never questioned my prowess before.

It doesn’t matter  _what_  we’re doing, either.

Him leaning against a cold, Dwemer slab, white-knuckled fingers gripping the stone, me thrusting into him from behind. 

His hands on my hips as I ride him, his cheeks rosy, mouth half-open as he pants, my cock bouncing against my belly.

On my hands and knees, biting my lip, his hands on my hips again as he fucks me, holding me just a little too gently.

I sleep curled up against him, sometimes sated, sometimes not. And that’s when I realize: I’m very quiet, too.

The ruins are rarely quiet. Dwemer pistons pumping in and out, gears rubbing against one another, well-oiled as if they’d been built just yesterday and not thousands of years ago. Strange metal creatures skittering over the stone steps or rolling ponderously across the floor. For all we’re mostly alone, it doesn’t often feel that way.

Maybe we have sex too often.

Maybe we’re only having sex because we’re the only ones here.

I don’t think about the time before we were together—when I’d escape to some dark corner, and have to hurriedly bring myself to release before some metal spider could come creeping near and interrupt me.

How guilty I felt, tucking myself back in and retying my trousers, turning shame-faced from what I’d done to the stone walls.

How important is sex when it comes to love?

Am I seriously lying here in the dark, half-hard, wondering if my boyfriend really loves me?

He doesn’t snore. Altmer are like these perfect beings, slender and pretty and tall, lovely even when they’re sick or tired or frustrated or scared.

If I try to wake him, kiss his shoulder and nuzzle his cheek, sneak my hand between our bodies and wrap my fingers around his soft cock—he’ll sigh and say he’s sleepy, but if I kiss him, he’ll kiss me back.

When he discovers something new, he calls me over, his voice excited, pitched forward, his eyes too bright to focus on me. I watch his face, the way his hands flutter over the strange new mechanism.

He’s so beautiful I could kiss him.

So I do.

He doesn’t tell me my mind is always in the gutter, like those dockworkers who whistle at him when he walks past. He kisses me back. He’s excited. He wraps his arms around me, presses me back against the stone walls. His trapped cock, hardening and lengthening, is warm against my belly.  

I surprise myself by moaning.

He laughs, hand in my trousers now, pulling me free, the other tickling the skin under my shirt. When we start to make love, I don’t care if he’s excited about his discovery, or me, or both.

He cries out when he comes.

We lie exhausted on the stone floor, my back a bit sore now—I think I may have pulled a muscle, and my head is throbbing slightly. Did I hit it against the floor when we…?

He laughs again and reaches over to touch my face, a sweet caress, fingertips dancing from my cheek to the tip of my nose.

I close my eyes.

I smile.


	28. Cal 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Brynjolf x Cal
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Time: Three years post relationship
> 
> Summary: _Cal returns home to Riften after a job and is puzzled as to why Brynjolf wants to meet him at the Bee and Barb. He's thrown even more for a loop when his own lover seems to not even recognize him._

The Bee and Barb was crowded tonight, more so than usual at least. I wrinkled my nose as I peered through the crowd. A warm night in Riften didn’t exactly mix well with so many folk packed into one place. Why Brynjolf even wanted to meet here at all was beyond me. I was tired, and spending my first evening back alone in our room sounded infinitely better than having to share my dinner with 50 other people.

Ah. There he was.

I made my way through the crowd, slipping around a group of laughing dockworkers before finally plopping down into the seat across from my lover’s with a sigh.

“Yes, before you ask,” I said, holding up a hand, “I put the item in the safe and filled out the log. And let Delvin know I was back. He’s the one who told me to meet you here. By the way, why _are_ we meeting here?” I picked up a menu, scanning it. Oh look! Absolutely nothing had changed in the three years or so I’d been living here.

After a second, I tossed the menu aside again.

“It’s not my birthday, is it? Anniversary? Wait, do we even have an anniversary?” I chuckled and finally met his eyes. “Hi, by the way.”

Which I guess is when I noticed he wasn’t smiling back.

Instead, his eyes were a bit narrowed, and he was sitting back in his seat as if I’d somehow startled him.

“Do I know you, lad?” he asked.

I blinked.

“Do you know…?” I frowned. “Okay, ha ha. Very funny. And—seriously, is this a joke? Why are you still looking at me like that?”

He arched a brow at me.

“Maybe because I’ve never met you before in my life, yet here you are, sitting down at my table without so much as a by your leave.” He quirked a smile. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. You’re rather a sight for sore eyes, if you don’t mind my saying.”

I gaped at him. Which I’m sure was super attractive of me, but honestly, he was freaking me out. I looked behind me, then all around, looking for—hell if I knew. The others, all waiting to jump out and shout ‘surprise!”? “Gotcha!”?

“Um.” I faced forward again, and tried not to fidget. It was sort of a bad habit. “Look, Bryn, I’m tired. If this is some sort of joke…”

“I’m afraid it’s no joke. Though it seems you have me at a disadvantage, seeing as how you know my name—or at least part of it.” He winked, and I’m not ashamed to say that despite everything, I could feel the warmth rising to my cheeks. Damn him. “Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”

I swallowed. Something about this _should_ have felt very, very off. And yet…

I leaned forward, trying not to let on how truly freaked out I was starting to get, and asked, softly. “Bryn…?”

He smirked and gave me another wink.

Ohhhh.

I sat back again, coughing suddenly into my hand to hide my smile. So _this_ was his game? Really?

I cleared my throat, still having to bite the inside of my cheek to try and contain my smile.

“It’s, ah, Cal,” I said, and his eyes immediately brightened as it became apparent I was going to play along. “Calowen Bright-Hair. But, you know.” I shrugged, still smiling. “Everyone just calls me Cal.”

“Well, then.” He leaned over, offering me his hand. “It’s a pleasure, ‘just Cal’.”

“Hardy har har.” I rolled my eyes but took his hand. It was warm, and calloused, and—okay, I _really_ did not need to mentally wax poetic about my boyfriend’s hand. I mean, I’d known that hand for _three years_ now. That hand had _been_ places, and I damn well knew it.

Aaand I was aroused. Damn it.

I tried to be discreet about shifting in my chair, but I knew he could tell.

“So,” he said, “What brings you to Riften.”

I shrugged.

“Oh, you know. Just passing through.”

“Is that so? It’s a shame you don’t plan on staying too long.” He smiled. “It’s a beautiful city. I’d love to show you around.”

“So you’re a native,” I said. I leaned forward, resting my crossed arms on the table.

“That I am.”

“Anything to drink, gentlemen?”

I looked up at Talen-Jei, who had paused to hover near our little table, his pad and pen at the ready.

“I’ll have a bottle of the local stout,” said Brynjolf, “if you don’t mind. And I could go for a spot of dinner, too. How about you, lad?”

“Famished. Let’s split the…” I trailed off, realizing that would be a bizarre thing to suggest to someone I’d _allegedly_ just met. I cleared my throat. “The, ah, small stew will do for me, Talen-Jei. And maybe one of those exotic concoctions of yours. Something sweet.”

Talen-Jei’s eyes lit up.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite customer,” he said happily. “I know just the thing. And you?” he asked, waiting for Brynjolf to give his dinner order before leaving us to ourselves again.

“You’ve passed through here before,” said Brynjolf, eying me thoughtfully. “You and the owner seem to know each other.”

Well, shit. He was really making me work for this.

“Oh, well, this is actually my second night here,” I said. “I, ah, must’ve sampled a half dozen of Talen-Jei’s creations by now.”

He laughed. “You must have made for interesting company afterward. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You can always try getting me sloppy drunk again tonight. Cute guy offers to buy me a drink? Not likely I’ll say ‘no’.”

“Hm. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Talen-Jei returned with our drinks then and our meals not soon afterward. True to his word, Brynjolf ordered me another as soon as I finished the second. I tried to take my time on my third since, in all honesty, ‘sloppy drunk’ doesn’t always make for the best time in bed, if you know what I mean. And I knew full well what his endgame was—or at least I thought I did.

“So,” he said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his clasped hands, “You must have a room here.”

“Sure do,” I said, shrugging. I was past the point of trying to fib effectively. I also couldn’t seem to stop staring at his lips. Honestly, if I didn’t have his mouth all over in me in the next five minutes I was going to push all the empty bottles aside, climb over the table, and crawl into his lap. I had a feeling Talen-Jei wouldn’t exactly be referring to me as his ‘favorite customer’ after that.

“It’s getting a little late,” he said. “Perhaps we might move upstairs and finish our drinks there.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Wait—

He paused, half-rising out of his seat.

“You’re not trying to seduce me—” I narrowed my eyes playfully up at him. “—Are you?”

His eyes widened to almost comical effect, and he lay his palm over his heart.

“Upon my honor. The thought never crossed my mind.”

Then he offered me his hand, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I snorted and took it, letting him help haul me up to my feet.

I was a little more buzzed than I realized, and he had to keep a steady hand on me as we made our way up the stairs.

“Look,” I said, as I semi-stumbled onto the second flood landing. “I have to be honest with you. I don’t really have a room up here.”

He laughed and tossed me a wink.

“That’s all right. Fortunately, I do.”

“Ohh, that is fortunate,” I said, laughing as he pulled me along further down the hallway. I watched as he pulled a key from his pocket, slipping it into the lock and turning the doorknob. I couldn’t resist for much longer, and moved to rest my palm against his warm chest. Another smile tugged at his lips, and I felt his hands come to rest on my hips.

“Hey,” I said, rubbing my hand over the material of his shirt now, letting him tug me slightly closer. “We forgot out drinks.”

“We did.” He smiled. He brought one hand up now to rub his thumb gently over my cheek, his fingers sliding through my hair. "Shor’s breath,” he murmured, “I’ve never seen such gorgeous eyes before.”

“Flatterer.” Then I couldn’t help the whine that finally slipped out. “Gods damn it, Bryn. Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He grinned and pulled me all the way up against him before finally lowering his lips to mine. Then he pushed the door open with his free hand, and together we stumbled inside; I obligingly kicked the door closed with the back of my boot.

We didn’t immediately fall onto the bed, even though that was pretty much the only other piece of furniture in the room, alongside a rickety wooden nightstand. The bed itself was a single one, so it was going to be a tight squeeze—not that I minded much in the moment.

He lowered his kisses to my neck, giving me a chance to catch my breath as my hands fumbled for his shirt. I’d gotten better at undoing buttons despite my semi-numb left-hand, but it was still taking too long. I made a noise that was halfway between a growl and a groan and just ripped the last two button off before sliding my hands greedily over his warm skin.

“Hey,” he said, laughing. “Could we perhaps keep the damage to a minimum?”

“No promises,” I said, finally pushing him back towards the bed until he plopped down on it with a little ‘oof’. I knelt before him and immediately pulled the ties to his trousers open. I know my eagerness surprised him, because he gave a little startled gasp and shudder as I pulled him free from his smallclothes, and immediately wrapped my lips around his wet tip.

“Cal… fuck…” He groaned and widened his legs slightly, the fingers of one hand stroking through my hair as I began to bob over him.

“No, lad…” he said, laughing weakly, and groaning a few more times before resting his hands on my shoulders and pushing me gently back. I lifted my eyes, wiping my mouth absently with the back of my hand. He smiled and caressed my face; the fondness in his own eyes both irritated me and made my heart turn over in my chest—as it always did.

“That wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he said. He laughed again, almost regretful. “You’re too damned good at it. And I fully intend to make love to you tonight.”

“Oh?” I got up off my knees, just enough so that I could slide onto his lap, straddling him and trapping his now straining cock between us. “I mean I like sucking you off, but getting fucked is high on my list of favorite things to do, too.”

He smirked. “Mm, somehow I would’ve guessed that about you.”

“Are we still playing this ridiculous game?” I asked with a groan—which turned into a laugh as he quickly turned us, making me land on the bed flat on my back with him settling delightfully on top of me.

“What game?” he asked, as he resumed kissing me. “I’ve never met you before in my life.”

He kept it up, too, the ass, as he steadily removed the rest of our clothing—not to mention more than a few knives—and probably the least sexy thing to happen that evening was when the lace of my boot got caught on my brace, and I had to sit up so we could both pull it off together. But then we both laughed afterward, and he pushed me back down again so he could seize my mouth with his own once more, and finish pushing the rest of my clothing off.

He’d come prepared, too. There was a bottle of oil—not the usual stuff, but scented, like—I don’t know, but it felt warm, and it tingled when he finally slid inside me, and oh gods, when he wrapped his hand around my own cock—

“Too good,” I gasped, my toes already starting to curl. “Babe, it’s too…!” But the rest of my warning was lost as my orgasm took me over the edge, and I swear to all the gods I could hear him laughing all the way through it.

Not that he was much better. He lasted for a few seconds more, but I’m sure my orgasm helped speed his own along as well.

He collapsed beside me, clearly still trying to catch his breath. We both lay on our backs for a while, just breathing and lying pressed against one another. I wasn’t usually one to fall asleep right after sex, but I could definitely feel my eyes starting to droop. Well, not the worst way to end the day, I suppose.

“So,” he said, after he’d manage to get his breathing under control again, “Have to say. I think we make a good team.” He turned his head on the pillow, his twinkling eyes meeting my own. “Fancy coming back to my place?”

I smacked his arm, and he laughed, rubbing it and feigning being hurt.

“What is _with_ you and this ridiculous story?” I asked.

He grinned and turned sideways, and honestly, he’d fucked me good enough that I didn’t even protest when he gathered me into his arms.

“Just a bit of fun,” he said, shrugging. “An idea. You seemed to like it?”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t _hate_ it,” I said, trying not to smile.

“Stubborn,” he said, chuckling.

He gazed into my eyes for a moment more before reaching up and tenderly pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips then stroking my cheek.

“Maybe I’ve noticed a few things lately,” he said, his expression sobering a little. “We don’t make love as often as we used to. You’re going out on more jobs. We don’t even see each other as much.”

“I don’t have to go out as much as I do,” I said. “I can stay home more. I guess I just get bored.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing slightly, and for some reason, the expression rather tugged at my heart.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “You’re not used to staying in one place for too long, are you? And it’s been, what, three years? Call me a paranoid old fool, but—

“You’re paranoid,” I said, cutting him off. I don’t know why, but I had a sudden lump in my throat. I pressed my lips together and stared back at him. Then I finally lifted myself up on my elbow, so I could look down at him.

“Brynjolf, I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly. “Okay, so I’ve been… I don’t know. Restless lately. But it’s not about us. Not about you.” I shrugged. “I like you, all right? You don’t have to worry about that.”

He snorted, his lips twitching.

“You _like_ me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiled and reached up, caressing my face again. “I love you. I just want you to know that. As much as I have the first time I ever said it. Maybe even more.”

I groaned and lowered myself back down, even burying my face into his shoulder.

“Fine,” I said, my voice muffled. “I fucking love you. Happy?”

“Very,” he said, wrapping his arms around me again.

And I suppose I was, too. It was true—I _had_ been feeling restless of late. Maybe there was just something about falling into a routine that rubbed me the wrong way, gave me the willies, or brought back bad memories of what happens when you get too complacent with life. My last relationship had ended so badly that I felt like I was forever desperately wishing that this one would do better—wishing so hard, sometimes, that I forgot to realize just how happy I really was.

I sighed and allowed myself to snuggle just a little bit closer. Maybe it was time to stop constantly worrying about both past and future.

Sometimes the present is good enough, just the way it is.

 


	29. Casien 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Time: A year, perhaps two, post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: _Casien and the king's argument ends rather more pleasantly than Casien would have anticipated. Apparently, disobeying a jarl has... consequences._

“Did I not say that we would have to discuss this before making promises to people?”

My husband looked more frustrated than usual, one hand running irritably through his hair as he paced behind his desk. His narrowed eyes met mine before he shook his head, growling under his breath.

“You’re always telling me I should get more involved in the day-to-day running of the city,” I shot back. “And I thought we’d _already_ discussed it! You said it was a good idea!”

“Agreeing that the idea is sound is not the same as informing the Shatter-Shields that we’ve room in the budget to carry out their plans!”

I narrowed my own eyes, my arms crossing over my chest. To be perfectly frank, he was right—and I knew it. But I didn’t like admitting when I was wrong. And I definitely didn’t like being roared at by my angry bear of a husband.

“You said you wouldn’t yell,” I reminded him. “You promised.”

He paused, his lips pressing together, hands balling into fists. Then he seemed to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before letting it out again.

“I did. I—” He was quiet, then: “My apologies.”

I shuffled my feet, chewing irritably on the inside of my cheek before finally sighing.

“I’m sorry, too. I know I shouldn’t have… said what I said.”

His eyes met mine. I sighed again, even more heavily.

“Or set up a meeting with everyone without telling you or anyone else about it,” I continued. “Or make promises the crown might not technically be able to afford.” I paused, then couldn’t help adding, “Even if it _is_ for a good cause, like a new hospital.”

His expression turned pinched again.

“Casien,” he said, his voice a warning.

“What?” I cried. “I said I was sorry!”

He gazed at me for a moment longer then shook his head.

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out towards me. I rolled my eyes but moved towards him, letting him take me by the hand and pull me closer, until we were standing right before one another, facing each other.

He moved to place his hands on my shoulders.

“Promise me you will _not_ schedule important meetings again without consulting me, Galmar, or Lia.”

“I promise,” I said, then I couldn’t help adding: “Is this _really_ necessary? Don’t you trust me?”

He leveled a look at me.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that,” he said, and I couldn’t help huffing, even though I fully deserved that.

He sighed, and pulled me a bit closer, leaning down to plant a kiss on my forehead.

“Go on,” he said, and I confess I gave a little startled jump when he actually gave my bottom a light pat. “We can discuss your punishment later. I have a meeting at two, I believe, and so do you, if I’m not mistaken.”

I gaped up at him.

“My _WHAT_?” I asked, and something about the way he was now looking at me, smile half-curling onto his mouth, made my cheeks flush.

“Go,” he said again, pushing me gently away and making a shooing motion with his hands.

I turned and eventually complied, giving him a vaguely curious yet wary look over my shoulder as I did so.

//

I confess I forgot all about my so-called _punishment_ not soon afterward. The meeting he’d referred to had been wearying but necessary, as it involved the new housing plans for the Argonians. Una had grilled the community leaders on their proposals, and I’d had to play mediator, as I so often did. It was mentally and emotionally taxing, but in the end, we all wanted what was best for the city of Windhelm—and compromise ensured that that would eventually be possible.

I returned to our apartment, looking forward to a bath and dinner by myself, for if I recalled correctly, the jarl was expected to join a contingent of traveling merchants downstairs.

So imagine my surprise when I entered the sitting room, and paused in shock as I was shucking off my boots and sword belt—for there, sitting on the couch, glancing up at me from the stack of papers he was reading, was my husband.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, straightening as I set my boots aside. “I thought you were eating dinner downstairs with the merchants.”

“That is tomorrow,” he said. He sat up a little, setting the papers aside on a nearby chair, and beckoned me closer.

Frowning, I came and sat down beside him.

“You’re not still mad about this afternoon, are you?” I asked warily.

“I am not,” he said, and I tried not to let on how relieved I was. “However, there is still the matter of your punishment.”

I looked at him as if he’d just spoken in another language.

“You’re not serious,” I said.

Yet the look he was giving me was entirely serious.

Minus the slight twinkle in his blue eyes, of course.

He sighed, and sat back a little.

“Did I not tell you, not too long ago, that if you were ever to disobey my orders, I would have to put you over my knee?”

I went abruptly still. I could feel my face flush immediately hot, and I swallowed.

“Um,” I said, but that seemed to be all I could manage.

He gave me a stern look before gently patting his lap with one hand.

I couldn’t help it; nervous laughter sort of tickled out of me, and I shifted a little in my seat.

“You’re not—um—

A small smile finally began to play on his lips, and he reached over to take my hand. He gave it a gentle tug, and I shifted obligingly closer. He leaned over and, after nuzzling my hot face, murmured into my ear: “Do you not wish me to discipline you?”

I'm honestly ashamed to admit how immediately aroused I became. He pulled back, pausing to brush his nose against mine, our lips almost touching, before meeting my eyes.

I nodded.

His lips quirked again, but he managed to contain his smile this time. He grasped me gently by the upper arm then and guided me onto my knees beside him—the floor was covered in a thick rug, thankfully—before encouraging me to lean my chest over his lap.

“Well, little roebuck,” he said, his voice deepening ever so slightly—he was playing a part, I could tell, and if I weren’t already so turned on, I would have smiled. “You have disobeyed me once again. And for that I will have to punish you.”

He brought his hand lightly down on my ass, causing me to jump at the contact. I squeezed my fingers into the material of his trousers and closed my eyes, biting my lip.

“Do you promise not to disobey me again?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. I was blushing so hard my face almost hurt. And yet I knew he could feel my trapped erection against his thigh.

“Hm. I’m not sure I believe you.”

He gave my ass another slap, this time a little bit harder.

I gasped.

“I promise I’m not lying,” I said.

“We shall see.”

He rested his hand on my ass for a moment, rubbing it as though to take away the pleasant sting. I breathed in sharply and tried hard not to moan.

“I am not convinced,” he eventually declared.

_Thank the Nine_ , I thought.

“However, I am not sure this punishment is really working. We shall have to get a sincere answer out of you, one way or another.”

He rubbed me a little bit more before moving his hand up. He then pushed my tunic and undertunic further up my back—fingertips tickling against my warm skin—before slipping his hand under the hem of my trousers.

I shuddered when he gave my ass a gentle squeeze.

“Lift your hips,” he murmured, and I did so. His other hand quickly slipped under me to tug at the laces of my trousers. And before I knew it, he had pushed them and my smallclothes down past my hips and over my thighs, where they fell into a puddle around my knees.

My freed erection was now pressed between us, and it was all I could do to suppress a whimper.

“Now,” he said, resting his palm against my bare ass this time. “Do you promise to obey your king and husband?”

He brought his hand up and smacked me even harder this time. I gave a little gasp, and a moan finally slipped out of me.

“Well?” he asked, but before I could answer, he smacked me again. This time I couldn’t help pressing myself against his leg as I did my best to moan out my ‘ _yes_.’

“More clearly, please. Do you promise to obey me?”

“Yes!” I cried, moaning and shuddering with pleasure as he slapped my ass a fifth and final time. I was close to rutting against him, but he finally took pity on me, and, wrapping his hands gently around my forearms, pulled me back up into a sitting position. I wasted no time in crawling into his lap, my legs straddling his hips as I began to kiss him ardently.

He hummed against my lips, and one hand had naturally slipped between us, curling around my straining arousal, stroking me a few times before squeezing me at the base to prevent me from coming too soon.

“Please,” I said, almost in tears now, simply from being so ridiculously aroused.

“In a moment,” he promised.

He shifted, then, pausing to let me help him remove my tunic and undertunic before letting me lie back against the couch. He leaned down to kiss me, but only for a moment, and I closed my eyes and bit back the embarrassed whimper on the tip of my tongue, for I knew damn well what he was going to do.

His lips made a trail then from my jaw and down my neck, pausing to suckle and bite at my skin before lowering further. My chest and nipples received similar treatment, then down to my fluttering stomach—usually, he would pay special attention to my hips and the insides of my thighs, but not this time. I suppose he could tell how desperate I was, for I soon felt his warm mouth envelope me, his hand still holding me at the base.

I didn’t last long. I wanted to warn him, for he had nearly swallowed my whole length, but the feeling was too intense, and it came over me before I could do anything about it. Pleasure cascaded over my body, and I moaned and cried as I came, the fingers of one hand digging into my husband’s hair.

I heard him cough a few times, but I was too dazed and exhausted from my orgasm to immediately care. I was still blinking up at the ceiling and wondering vaguely if it were possible for my heart to beat right through my ribs, when I noticed him leaning over me, gazing down at me.

A smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose—probably to annoy me more than anything.

“Nnngh,” I said, despair washing over me then when I realized I couldn’t even form words.

He laughed.

“I assume I am thoroughly forgiven for yelling,” he said.

“You can yell at me all you like,” I finally managed, “If that’s what’s going to happen afterward.”

He laughed again, and sat up, gathering me carefully into his arms. I sighed and curled up against him, my body still feeling somewhat shaky and weak. I hadn’t had dinner yet, or my bath—and that’s when I realized we hadn’t even locked the apartment door.

Or that I’d just screamed my head off as my husband brought me to orgasm with his mouth—with only about ten feet and a door between ourselves and the guard standing outside.

“Can we at least go to the bedroom,” I asked, my voice still a bit shaky.

“Gladly,” he said, chuckling as he stood up, still holding me to his chest. I pressed my face to his neck as he carried me, nuzzling him a little—but refraining from nibbling on his jaw or ear.

The last thing I wanted to do was get him started again.

I was going to need time to recover from _that_.

He lay me down on our bed—and, embarrassingly, in the end, I ended up falling asleep. He woke me an hour or so later for dinner, and sat beside me in the bed as he laid the food out on the trays before us. I nibbled my food rather humbly, and tried not to notice the way his smile occasionally twisted into an amused, warm little smirk.

Well, if there was one thing he could probably count on—I would definitely think twice next time about either not consulting him or going against his wishes.

Probably.

 


	30. Teddy 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Neramo x Teddy Tyrane
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: A few months into the relationship perhaps
> 
> Summary: _Teddy is used to following Neramo around; he's his assistant after all. But where is he leading him this time?_

“How much further?” I asked, swearing under my breath as my palm scraped against the rock face.

We’d been hiking and climbing steadily for at least 30 minutes now. Of course, we’d been traveling generally downward for at least the past three days, but I didn’t often pay much attention to where we were going or how far we’d traveled—that was generally his job. My job was to help set up camp, help carry supplies, help disassemble various Dwemer contraptions—I did a lot of helping, but then again, I was his assistant.

Honestly, I’d learned not to ask where we were going. Often as not, he’d either ignore me or start rambling on about something completely unrelated. So when he came to the jagged little path leading up through the ruins and began to climb it, I followed without question. He’d set his pack down first, and so I’d done the same, assuming that we’d be back sooner rather than later. What did he have in mind this time? A water source? Some long dead mechanical creature, too large for us to move? Maybe a wall etching he wanted to reexamine and have me copy down?  

“Oh, not much longer, I should think,” came the placid reply, startling me, for I hadn’t been expecting one.

He was right. The immense cavern had finally opened up beside us as we climbed, and I’d half-feared losing my footing once or twice and plummeting down below to my death. But now the path finally evened out, and came to a stop on a sort of cliff face. I came to stand beside him, breathing a bit heavily, and gazing warily down at the inky depths below.

“Well?” I asked, after we’d stood there for a solid minute or two. “Why are we here? I don’t see anything.”

There really was nothing. Aside from the cavern, there were the walls of the ruins, intermixed with solid stone, but there was nothing interesting about any of it. No chiseled out ancient directives, no statues build to resemble gods from eons past. Nothing.

“I suppose we may be a bit early,” he said, gazing thoughtfully up towards the ceiling of the cavern, which was still unfathomably far away. “Though I thought I had managed to time it fairly accurately. I wonder if the time keeper’s malfunctioning. Oh!” He frowned. “Of course, we left it down below with our things. Goodness, that was uncharacteristically foolish of me.”

The ‘time keeper,’ as he called it, was one of many Dwemer artifacts we’d managed to repair and restore to operation—along with, for example, the ‘light wands’ we each carried attached to our waists. Well, maybe _repair_ wasn’t quite the right word. The time keeper told the time, yes, but it also occasionally began to vibrate and became so hot to the touch that it could practically burn the skin right off your hands. It was a work-in-progress, I guess.

“Ah!” he said, regaining my attention. “There it is.”

I followed his gaze, looking up towards the ceiling—and was surprised to see, of all things, the moon peeking through. There obviously was a small opening, many, many feet above our heads, allowing light from above to filter through. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before.

As the luminescent rays from the moon—I couldn’t really tell _which_ moon, not from where we were standing—traveled down through the crevice, they happened to hit the far wall of the cavern, dancing over the surface of the rock as if it were water.

Abruptly, the stone seemed to shimmer, soft color spreading and bursting before my eyes. It was so beautiful, my breath got caught in my throat, and I almost lost my footing. It was like… gazing up at the aurora on a cold winter’s night. Only far brighter, and nearer, and therefore both vast and strangely intimate, all at the same time.

“Pretty, isn’t it? It’s some kind of metal alloy, though I’ve yet to get my hands on a sample.” He sighed. “Perhaps someday.”

I blinked, still gazing at the silently dancing colors before me.

“You brought me here… for this?”

“Oh, well, yes. You asked me, quite some time ago, if I didn’t wish to talk about myself a bit more. I believe there was some such nonsense about the two of us and what I thought about that. Quite silly, all things considered. But I’m not very good at talking feelings and such. So I thought this might do well enough. I discovered it on my own, oh, many years ago, I suppose. I always thought it would be a lovely thing to share with someone.”

I looked away from the moonlit stone to gape up at my lover.

“You mean… This is for me?”

He didn’t answer. His brow furrowed, and he, too, was still gazing out at the far wall. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he closed it again. He looked at me, then, and frowned.

All of a sudden, I felt a huge smile spread across my face. I do think my heart started pounding so hard, too, it was in danger of flying right out of my chest.

“Oh dear,” he said.

I couldn’t help it. I stood on tip toe and threw my arms around him, hugging his lithe figure close to my own. He didn’t resist, though he also didn’t reciprocate—at least at first. Gradually, I felt his arms fold around me as well, holding me only for a moment. Then he sighed.

“Yes, well.” He gave the top of my head a little pat. “I can see you are appreciative. Perhaps now we might—

I didn’t give him a chance to finish. Instead, I kissed him, cutting off whatever it was he’d been about to say. He kissed me back, the way he always did. I even felt one cool palm come to rest briefly against my cheek, fingertips tickling my skin—but only for a moment.

“Thank you,” I said, breathless both from the kiss and the feeling of elation I still couldn’t quite dampen. “This really means… just, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said.

His lips pressed together, a little smile actually managing to escape.

“I suppose you are very cute when you are happy,” he admitted. “And it does bring me some small pleasure to witness the expression on your face.”

I smiled.

“And now we have a place,” I said. “A place that only we know about.”

“Goodness, I hadn’t really thought of it like that. But, you know, you are my assistant, after all, and have traveled with me to places no one else ever has. We have quite a few places, really.”

“We do,” I said. I turned back to look at the cavern wall, though the color was finally starting to fade. I reached for my boyfriend’s hand without thinking, giving it an absent squeeze. “I guess we really do.”


	31. Casien 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: Some 20 odd years post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: It's Emrik Stone-Fist's 15th birthday, and Casien is left wondering where all the years have gone.

“Fifteen years old,” I said to Una, my voice despairing. “How can he be _fifteen years old_ already?”

She laughed, and reached for another glass of mead from a passing servant.

“It does seem like only yesterday when he was still little,” she said, watching fondly as her son twirled the pretty daughter of a local merchant around the dance floor. “And to think Siori will be twelve soon.”

I sighed and leaned against the cold, stone walls, crossing my arms absently over my chest. How Emrik had convinced his great-uncle to have his birthday party here, in the great hall, remained a mystery to me. The guest list alone had stretched Una’s and my ability to accommodate everyone without committing some sort of international incident. And now, of course, every girl, not to mention a few of the boys, was aching for a chance to dance with him. Of course, that only partly had to do with the fact that he was quite handsome, despite fifteen being an altogether awkward age. But the parents of these eager young people were well aware that Emrik Stone-Fist stood the greatest chance at ascending to the throne after his aunt.

“What sort of dancing is that anyway?” I asked, wrinkling my nose slightly, for I had never seen anything quite like it, but then, I hardly paid much attention to such things these days.

“Oh, it’s all the craze in Solitude, apparently. I think it’s a Breton sort of thing. Very romantic, though, it must be admitted.”

It was. The couple held one another, practically gazing in one another’s eyes as they twirled and flitted across the dance floor. Of course, the younger dancers did far too much giggling and stepping on one another’s feet, but their parents and older relatives made quite an elegant thing of it. I could almost smile, for it had been so long since I had ever danced, and I’d never really lost my taste for it. But the husband of a jarl has little need of dancing, as Lia had once sternly told me.

The song ended, and the giggling increased, some of the dancers running off to get more food, and a few looking eagerly for another partner. The adults were all chatting amiably as well. The party, so far as I could tell, was a success.

“You two seem to have outdone yourselves,” said a familiar voice, and I looked away from the dance floor to arch my eyebrows at the jarl, who was approaching us at a leisurely pace, his hands held loosely behind his back.

“It would appear so,” said Una dryly. “No one’s declared war on anyone else. And I don’t doubt there will be a few declarations of undying love before the evening’s over and done with.”

“Swiftly followed by late night discussions with their parents over why that particular suitor isn’t appropriate,” I added, snorting.

“That would be a rather tragic ending to such a fine evening,” said my husband, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

I rolled my eyes.

“I guess we don’t exactly set the best example,” I said. “The jarl marrying a servant.”

“Or the daughter of a general marrying a guardsman,” murmured Una.

“Oh, but Galmar took care of that,” I said. “ _Now_ you’re married to the captain of the guard.”

“And Uncle is married to the prince consort,” she replied sweetly.

I rolled my eyes again, glancing back at the dance floor when the musicians began tuning their instruments again, apparently about to launch into another song.

“Shall we?”

I looked away from the dance floor again, then up at my husband—then down at the hand he was offering me.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, Uncle,” said Una, chuckling. “Very smooth.”

“You’re joking,” I insisted, and he sighed, rather heavily.

“Casien. Just take my hand.”

I did, his fingers immediately closing over my own before he turned and led us out towards the dance floor. Even after all these years, I could feel my face starting to flush as people noticed us, and began smiling and whispering towards one another. I wondered how foolish we must look—we were so mismatched as a couple, and that hadn’t changed even despite the nearly twenty years which had passed between us. Oh, he was still as handsome as ever, even despite his beard having gone entirely gray and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes becoming more prominent. But I was still short, and, at thirty-seven, still possessed the most childishly round face in all of Tamriel, I was sure of it; I still had freckles marching across the bridge of my nose, still had wild dark hair that would never listen to any brush or comb I sought to tame it with. And, it must be confessed, in the past few years, I had gotten a little soft in the middle, so that I felt even sillier and less coordinated than usual when standing beside him.

“You actually know what you’re doing?” I asked, when he positioned both our hands.

His only response was to arch an eyebrow back at me. The music began, and I let him lead me, slowly, for the music was not very fast, and the steps were not complicated. Mostly we just sort of swayed in place, and occasionally, the pressure of his hand on my waist would increase, and he would lead us in a sort of turn.

“We haven’t danced since our wedding,” I said, for I felt I ought to say something, anything to stem the blush I could still feel on my cheeks, not to mention the embarrassingly giddy feeling in my chest.

“That is hardly true,” he said. “We have danced many times since.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Not in public,” I said. “In front of people who don’t know us.”

“Who doesn’t know the jarl and his beautiful prince consort?”

I almost tripped over my own feet as he twirled us, and couldn’t help giving him a helplessly annoyed look.

“What?” he asked.

“You aren’t supposed to call me ‘beautiful’ after I’ve eaten two huge slices of cake and had three glasses of wine,” I said. “I feel like a potato that’s about to pop.”

He threw his head back and laughed, probably startling some of the other dancers, not to mention the eager on-lookers.

“You are not a potato,” he said, once he’d gotten his amusement under control.

“I am,” I insisted. “A small potato with an untamable bush on top of his head.”

“Well,” he allowed, smiling, “Then you are _my_ potato. And a very lovely one at that.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes yet again, yet I remained silent then, allowing him to lead me through the rest of the dance. I wanted, too, very much to mimic some of the younger people and lean against my partner, let his arms encircle my waist and pull me closer, let his nose dip into my hair the way it did when we were alone.

Afterward, he kissed my hand the way he had after our wedding dance, and I smiled up at him and shook my head, for I could scarcely remain such a sourpuss when he was being so over-the-top gallant with me. He stroked my cheek with his thumb, and I leaned up to kiss him properly, my hands briefly squeezing the collar of his tunic.

There was applause afterward, and Emrik and his friends even whistled at us as they clapped; I shot him a stern look, but he only grinned cheekily at me.

//

Later that night, I sat in bed with my legs propped up, my book leaning against my knees. I wore little spectacles now that helped me read a bit better, for apparently peering at tiny words in dim lighting for the last 20 years had done rather terrible things to my eyes. Of course the healer had hesitantly suggested I give up reading altogether, and even the jarl had laughed at this.

He joined me now, sighing heavily as he leaned back against the headboard, letting himself relax.

“What are you reading?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, some new study on transfiguration magic Brelyna sent me,” I said absently. “I _can_ and _will_ become competent at it. Even if it takes me _thirty_ years to do it.”

“Hm. But I know of something else that you are far more competent at.”

“What,” I asked absently.

After a moment, I saw a hand suddenly appear before the top of my book, two fingers folding around the spine and pulling it gently from my grasp. I looked over at him, confused. He laid the book down, then reached over to carefully remove the spectacles from my face, leaning over to set them down beside the book on my nightstand.

“I’m done reading for the night?” I said, amused.

He wasted little time before resting his palm against my cheek, turning my face up towards his own and kissing me.

I sighed against his lips, resting my hands on his bare shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin.

“Sex,” I said, smiling as he began kissing my jaw. “You’re saying I’m competent at sex.”

“Mm.”

“Only competent?”

He looked up at me.

“Highly skilled,” he amended. “Advanced. Master level.”

I laughed, I couldn’t help it.

“Master level! I’m better at sex than magic!”

“I know nothing about magic,” he said, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer against him, even as he covered my mouth with his own again. “I cannot judge what I do not know.”

And I suppose he knew me, just as well as I knew him.

Wisdom can only grow with time, and perhaps the same can be said for love. Not that I could imagine loving him anymore than I already did.

No matter how potato-shaped either one of us became.

 


	32. Casien 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> Time: A few months post-marriage, and probably right after "Casien 2."
> 
> Summary: Casien is recovering from an illness, and being as stubborn about it as usual.

“My lord, please,” said the guard, a pained look on his face. “The jarl specifically instructed me to—

“The jarl this, the jarl that,” I said, crossing my arms and rolling my eyes. “Do you see a collar around my neck? A brand on my face? A tag on my ear?”

“…No, my lord,” came the uncomfortable reply.

“Exactly. Therefore, I’m not a dog, or a cow, or somebody’s pet; I’m a free man, and can go wherever I please.”

“But your illness, my—

“What illness? Do I look ill to you? I can walk, I can run,”—not for very long, of course, but I kept that part to myself, along with the fact that I  _did_  feel ever so slightly like I might pass out if I turned my head too quickly—details, details— “I’m perfectly healthy in every way. This decree that I shouldn’t leave our apartment is, once again, my husband being an overprotective old bear who tosses around his authority as if it were candy at a parade.”

The guard looked in agony. I could almost feel sorry for him.

“My lord,” he begged, one last time. “Please. His instructions were very specific.”

“And he said he would make sure you never carried a sword or wore that armor ever again, I’m sure,” I said, rolling my eyes again. “Blah, blah, blah. Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure he won’t sack you. Now unless you intend to physically restrain me, I’m going to go visit the library downstairs. All right?”

“…Yes, my lord,” came the defeated reply.

I smirked and made my way down the hallway. However, I was only halfway there when a wave of dizziness suddenly overtook me. I reached out to steady myself against the wall, my breath coming in shallow little gasps, my heart racing…  _Stupid_ , I thought, but I was so incredibly  _bored_  in the apartment all by myself, for all my friends and family were quite busy during the day, and I had pretty much read every book in our personal library.

I wondered that the guard hadn’t rushed forward to assist me; however, once my head cleared and I finally managed to catch my breath, I straightened, and—looked up into the face of my husband, who was now standing right across from me.

“…I was just returning to our rooms!” I said, planting a smile on my face and whirling hurriedly around—which naturally caused me to feel dizzy again.

I felt a hand fall heavily to my shoulder, steadying me, and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Please don’t pick me up,” I whispered. “Not in front of the guard.”

“When you relapse and lay upon your death bed, it will be a great comfort to know that your pride is still intact,” he rumbled, and I sighed and allowed him to carefully lift me up into his arms and carry me back towards the apartment. The guard gave a quick bow before hastily opening the door to allow us to enter.

“Don’t sack the guard,” I said weakly, as we passed him—Nine, I needed to rest, and hated how obvious that was becoming.

“I can hardly fault the guard for your own obstinate behavior,” he murmured.

I sighed. If I weren’t so tired, I’d have had a lovely comeback, I was sure, but as it was… I was asleep even before he set me down on the bed.


	33. Casien 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Time: About a year and a half post-marriage
> 
> Summary: Ulfric has been away for a few days, and, well, Casien misses him.

Nervous energy tingled like magic all over my body as I entered the apartment, shutting the door absently behind me. I removed my boots and almost bounced onto the carpet, a giddy smile finally erupting onto my face. I’d had to hide my excitement all morning and afternoon, for it felt _incredibly_ silly to be so eager to see my husband after we’d spent only three nights apart.

He, Galmar, and Ania had left for an inspection of several forts to the west of the White River a few days ago. Yesterday at breakfast I’d asked Hellina if she wasn’t dreadfully missing her wife—and the others had all stopped and looked at me with such smiles of pity I’d wanted to immediately disappear under the table and not come out until I was the only one left in the room. So today I’d done my absolute best to appear as blasé as possible, but now that I was alone?

I swept up Chomper who came padding over towards me, swinging her around me and singing, “He’s coming home! He’s coming home!”

Her ears went flat and her tail swished, but she didn’t object to the enthusiastic kiss I planted on her nose. I set her down then and made my giddy way to the bedroom, taking a running jump before flopping back onto the bed, sighing happily as my body sank into the soft mattress.

I closed my eyes after a moment and let myself dream of my husband—of his warm voice, murmuring sweet things into my ear; his fingertips brushing against my face; lips nibbling against my own. I smiled and sighed again, wiggling deeper into the furs and bedcovers.

I pictured him entering now, seeing me like this—no doubt he had missed me as much as I had missed him. Maybe the sight of me in our bed would fill him with unexpected passion; he’d stride towards me, sweep me into his arms, and settle his heavy body over mine. I imagined he would smell like the outside, like horses and leather and sweat and steal; his beard would be a little overgrown, his hands fumbling with my clothing in his excitement to make me his again.

I bit my lip around my smile, for of course such thoughts had now left me more than a little aroused.

I can’t say that I'd ever shied away from touching myself—only when I knew I wasn’t alone and couldn’t be assured of privacy, which, admittedly, had been often, especially when I had worked as a servant. And now, well, it honestly would have been mortifying for my husband to catch me doing such a thing; I’d certainly never caught _him_ and wondered if he even did it. I supposed _everyone_ , or almost everyone, did, but at least between the two of us, we were very nearly always together, and once we were alone—let’s just say our love life hadn’t exactly slackened, even despite having been married now for nearly two years.

But I was alone now, so what was the harm in it?

I smiled, and closed my eyes again, imagining it was my husband’s hand that began to tug at the laces of my trousers. But no—he wouldn’t start there. He’d slide his hand up my chest, brush his rough fingertips over my nipples until my breath caught and the flush crept all the way up my face. Then back down over my fluttering belly before undoing my laces and sliding inside, first palming me over my smallclothes as he kissed me before finally slipping his hand inside and grasping my length.

I did so now, breathing quickly now as I gave myself a few tugs, my thumb playing with the wet tip. I bit my lip again and almost laughed. I probably _shouldn’t_ be doing this, because he would be home soon, and no doubt we’d… but that just turned me on even more, and now there was no stopping myself. I thought to reach for some of the oil in the bedside table, but I didn’t like to get my hands all messy with it, so I just continued doing what I was doing, my progress slow but satisfying, enough to make me moan after a while.

I could feel my release just out of reach now, building slowly. I was set steadily on chasing it, my hips now canting up towards my stroking hand, when—the loud sound of the outer door opening and closing made me abruptly stop.

I sat up, or tried to, propping myself up on my elbows and staring at the wide open bedroom door. I heard the footsteps approaching, and hurriedly stuffed myself back inside my trousers, but it was _hard_ , because _I_ was still—I panicked and grabbed a pillow, pulling it over my lap and sitting up all the way, my face no doubt beet red, my hair a tousled mess.

And there he was. He paused in the doorway, his blue eyes widening slightly when he saw me. I saw them flick down to my lap before returning to my face. And then, unbelievably, a little smile began to curve its way onto his face.

“…You’re home!” I managed, and hoped vainly that he would perhaps need the toilet or—but no, he was coming towards me, the smile on his face growing, and I closed my eyes, almost whining in embarrassment.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, sitting carefully down on the mattress beside me.

“Oh,” I said, my heart still racing madly. “Yes. A little. Of course.”

He was still smiling. He looked down at the pillow in my lap before slowly and gently reaching for it—and removing it.

I groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, covering my face with my hands.

“I promise I was thinking of you,” I said, my voice muffled behind my palms.

He chuckled, his voice low and warm.

“I’m flattered,” he said, and I could tell he was teasing me.

I peeked out at him, both hating and loving the adoring expression on his face as he gazed down at me. He reached over and tickled the bottom of my foot, and I made a sad sort of noise, giving his hip a feeble little kick.

“Would you like some assistance?” he asked, as pleasantly as if he were offering to help me move a piece of furniture or pull off my boots.

I groaned again and recovered my face.

“…Yes, please,” I said.

And then—my daydream finally came true, for now my husband really was leaning over me, nudging my hands playfully away from my face with his nose before finding my lips and seizing them with his own. It wasn’t the passionate, hungry kiss I had envisioned, oh no. He was set on teasing me, torturing me, making me suffer in the most pleasant of ways possible. He kissed and nipped his way all up and down my jaw, over my ear and down to my neck. Meanwhile, his hand indeed made its way inside my smallclothes, and I was again pulled free, though this time it was a much larger hand than my own that wrapped itself around my straining length.

I made a desperate, whining, whimpering sound, for he was doing that thing I both loved and hated: pushing my tunic up to briefly kiss my chest and belly before lowering his mouth to my arousal. It was terribly, horrifically embarrassing when he did this, but it felt too good to genuinely protest, and I knew that _he_ knew I really did enjoy it—perhaps a little too much. I paddled my feet weekly against the mattress, my toes and fingers curling into the sheets. He held me still, wrapping an arm around my hips and pressing me down with the other hand as he swallowed me whole. I gripped the top of his head, fingertips clenching through his hair, and moaned, and cried, and finally filled our otherwise silent bedroom with my voice as I came.

He crawled back up to lean over me, a smirk more than a smile on his lips as I panted dizzily up at him. He kissed me then, gently, for he knew I didn’t like the taste, before moving to nuzzles and kiss the side of my face.

“…I missed you,” I finally managed, my heart still rattling away in my ribs. “I missed you a whole lot.”

He lifted his head again, our eyes meeting, and smiled.

“And I missed you,” he said, fingers now stroking my cheek.

I smiled back at him, then bit my lip.

“Do you want me to… to return the…”

He laughed.

“I think not. I haven’t bathed since I first left, and I do not think you would appreciate the experience.”

 _Not that you ever do_ , his warm, teasing eyes said, and I couldn’t help feeling guilty, for it was rather true.

“Well,” I said, and there’s something to be said for climaxing in your husband’s mouth—you sort of briefly lose all sense of decency and shame. “You could fuck me if you like.”

“Mm. I think I would like that very much.”

So I suppose I ended up using that oil after all, though happily it was his hand that got dirty and not my own. _Now_ I experienced his passion for me, as he sank inside me with a groan, his hands gripping my hips tightly. He was never rough when we made love, nor did he ever ignore my own pleasure when we were together. But this time I had given him my body to use, and use it he did—I closed my eyes and panted as he pressed urgent kisses to my face, groaning, his cock sliding in and out of me with increasing urgency. He cried out as he came—he was usually almost silent—and I took that as a sign that I had indeed been well and truly missed.

Afterward, we lay beside one another on our backs. I let him catch his breath before turning and cuddling against him as was my wont. I even semi-draped myself over him, wrapping an arm around his side and tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

“I missed you,” I said against his warm skin, nuzzling him and breathing him in as I did.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his broad chest.

“I believe you already said so.”

“I know. But I just wanted to tell you again. I missed you.”

After a moment, I felt his arm snake around me, his palm pressing against my back. He turned his head then and pressed a kiss to my nose, and then my forehead. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you—I could say the words over and over again, until I could barely mumble them, my lips and tongue tripping over the syllables, my eyelids growing heavy with sleep.

 _I missed you, I missed you, I missed you_ , he would say, each word another kiss, brushing against my lips, my cheek, my fluttering eyelids.

And nothing more really needed to be said. 


	34. Teddy 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Teddy x Neramo
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few months post-relationship
> 
> Summary: Neramo reflects on his relationship with his apprentice.

“What I find most fascinating is how _we_ are the first to have traversed these halls in centuries!”

Neramo gazed up at the dimly-lit cavernous room that they had yet to fully explore and did his very best to refrain from sighing. The very idea of going where no mer had ever gone before—well, at least not in _this_ century—never failed to fill him with excitement. Of course, he was never really one to show his excitement very well, had been told in the past that he waved his hands too much when speaking about things that made him happy, that he tended to ramble and annoy everyone around him.

It was good that he had found a traveling companion who didn’t mind these little eccentricities; even so, he found himself more and more trying to restrain himself around his apprentice. He supposed there was nothing wrong with not wanting to appear a fool in front of someone you had begun to—well, it was nice, not having to be alone all the time, he supposed. Not that he minded his own company! But it was good to have someone always beside him now, someone to bounce ideas off of or use in experiments, or, well, no, he should not think of it like that. He would never put his apprentice in harm’s way. Though that was probably the sort of thing he could never bring himself to say aloud.

“Did you know,” he continued, gazing fondly up again at the ceiling of the immense room where they had set up camp for the night, “that the Ayleid believed that the world was composed of just four different elements? And that light was said to be the greatest of these. And the greatest of all was star light!”

“Mm,” said his apprentice.

They were sitting very close together, backs against the wall, a cheerful little fire before them. Their bellies were full, and he sat with his legs crossed before him. Teddy had drawn his own knees up and sat slightly curled against him. He’d even allowed his cheek to rest against Neramo’s shoulder, and Neramo could admit very privately to himself that it was not an unpleasant sensation.

“Yes,” he continued cheerfully, “the greatest of these was star light… and I for one can see the wisdom in that distinction, for is that not where Aetherial magic was said to originate? Imagine if we should come across one of the famed star-stones!”

When this failed to produce a response of any kind, he happened to glance down at the face beside his own and was surprised to see that Teddy’s eyes were closed. And, if the slight parting of the lips and the way his body sighed so evenly and quietly against his own were any indication, there could be no doubt that his apprentice had fallen asleep.

He supposed the journey so far had been more than a little arduous, not that Teddy ever complained! Now that he thought about it, his own legs _did_ have a bit of an ache in them. He supposed they should both lie down now; his back certainly would not offer up any protest on that account. But he was too excited to sleep.

“I will have to get you to do some of your little drawings,” he said to his sleeping apprentice, “for we are sure to come across some very interesting reliefs.”

He was silent for a moment, then: “You are very talented, you know. I am very lucky to have such a talented apprentice to assist me in my studies.”

He thought he might say something else, like how much he liked the interesting things he did with his hair, or how cute his nose was, or some such thing, but he didn’t. Perhaps one day he might tell him such things.

“You must indeed be dreadfully tired to fall asleep before attempting to engage me in carnal pleasures,” he said mildly. “I suppose that is just as well, for I, too, am rather tired.”

But then he could not help laughing at himself, for had he not just thought that he was too excited to sleep? But perhaps having an apprentice sleeping so pleasantly beside him was enough to dull the fires of excitement, at least in regards to these ruins. He should not mind just sitting here for a little bit longer. No, the truth was, he found he did not mind it at all—the warm body of his apprentice nestled so comfortably against his own, the soft, even puffs of breath against his collarbone.

The ruins could wait, after all. They weren’t going anywhere.

 


	35. Casien 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: About six months post-marriage
> 
> Summary: Casien shares a dream he had.

I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the darkness of our bedroom. _Cold_. It must have been what had woken me up, for it was the dead of winter, and I had somehow pushed the bedcovers down past my chest—which was bare, because my husband had miraculously gone to bed early, so we’d actually managed to spend some time together.

The other side of the bed was empty, but the sound of the toilet flushing told me where he was.

I gazed listlessly at the dying fire, my brain still half-wallowing in sleep—and in the rather pleasant dream I’d just had. So pleasant that I was beginning to feel rather irritated that I’d been woken up.

I shifted, pulling the bedcovers up to my shoulders. My husband emerged then, and, seeing me awake and snuggling under the blankets, paused to go and stoke the fire before climbing back into bed.

“I had the strangest dream,” I said, as he pulled me closer to him.

“Mm,” he said, so I supposed he was still half-asleep as well.

“I was in this horrible sex dungeon type place,” I said, my eyes closing as I spoke, lips brushing against his skin. “This awful man was keeping me as a slave. Only I wasn’t the only slave, but I think I was the only one who was _his_ slave. Anyway, I had to do all these chores in addition to the horrible sex stuff. But then you showed up with your warriors and rescued me. The strangest thing, and I guess this is because I was reading that book on the Forsworn earlier today—but you weren’t yourself; you were a Forsworn chieftain, and—

“I was a _what_?” came the startled reply.

I stopped, startled by the interruption. After a moment, I pushed myself up on one elbow and gazed down at him.

“ _That’s_ what got your attention?” I said. “Not the part about me being a sex slave?”

He gave a sleepy little laugh and reached up, running his palm over my arm.

“Don’t be angry with me. Tell me more. So I rescued you?”

I huffed and lay back down, snuggling close again—he was a veritable furnace.

“Yes,” I said, “And brought me back to your clan with your warriors. And I lived with you for some time, only I wasn’t sure of my place in the clan. I felt really alone and scared, even though we were together.”

“So I took you to my bed? A wise decision on my part.”

I gave him a little slap.

“Stop, I’m not done yet.”

“This is a very involved dream.”

“I know. But so you and you warriors went off on some raid, and I began to help this other woman around the camp. I finally confessed my fears to her, and she just looked at me like I was an idiot. She said the word you had been using to call me—it was in the Forsworn language—

“I do not believe the Forsworn have their own language.”

“They—that’s not the point. Do you want to hear the rest of the dream or not?”

“I do.”

“So this woman, she asked me, _He calls you_ amal-humin _, does he not?_ She said that in their language that word meant ‘beloved’ and was only used to refer to someone that you had bonded to—that you had married.”

“So I married you, only you did not know it.”

“Yes.”

He ran his palm slowly up and down my back now, the motion so soothing I felt very close to drifting back to sleep. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“That was rather selfish of me.”

“Oh?”

“Not to tell you that I had married you.”

I laughed—it was very nearly a giggle, it must be confessed.

“I guess it was a silly dream,” I said after a while. He was still rubbing my back, and I had to admit to a growing, sleepy sort of arousal. It was his fault, really, for being so warm and soft, and for insisting on touching me as he held me close.

“You had feathers in your hair,” I added after a moment. “You were very handsome.”

“So in this dream. Did we make love?”

I snorted into his shoulder. I knew exactly where his mind was going.

“No,” I said. “I guess my brain kind of skipped over that part.”

“I see.”

His hand went past my tailbone then, resting over my ass and giving it a light squeeze. He turned his head then and brushed his nose slowly through my hair before pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“… _Amal-humin_ …” he murmured, and I couldn’t help it; I started laughing, and gave him another playful slap.

“ _Amal-humin_ ,” he said again, shifting and curling his arm around my hip so that my body was under his now.

“Stop,” I pleaded, caught between laughing and moaning now as he began kissing my neck.

“My beloved,” he murmured against my skin. “My heart. _Amal-humin_ …”

“You’re the worst,” I said, only of course I didn’t mean it, and he knew I didn’t mean it. And I suppose there are some things even better than dreams—like being made love to twice in one night by your husband the king.

If this was what happened when I told him my dreams, I thought afterward, snuggling against him after he’d already fallen asleep, I should definitely do it more often.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and drifted back off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I actually had this dream. I was Casien, and yes the sex dungeon bit was awful, but let me tell you, Ulfric looks fabulous with feathers in his hair.


	36. Casien 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Time: About a year post-marriage
> 
> Summary: I was challenged to write something in second person, so, here it is 😋

You are in bed, alone, waiting for your beloved to appear. The sheets rub like satin against your still damp skin as you sigh into the mattress. You think of touching yourself, the mere thought of his hands on you driving you wild, but you bite your lip and smile, knowing it will be all the sweeter to force yourself to wait.

Just then, the outer door opens and closes.

“Who’s there?” you say, sitting up in mild alarm. The sheets fall from your chest, pooling around your waist and thighs, mingling with the soft furs of the bedding.

A mysterious figure appears in the doorway. He is tall and wears a menacing—

“You’re supposed to look menacing,” you say, frowning.

“Menacing,” he says, as if he does not know the word.

“Yes,” you say. “That’s part of the story. You’re menacing because you’re here to ravish me.”

He sighs but makes a concerted effort. It will have to do.

He begins his slow approach, reaching up with one hand to yank the cloak roughly from around his shoulders, tossing it aside. His pale eyes never leave your own.

“No!” you cry, scooting back against the pillows. “Please, leave me alone! Don’t hurt me!”

“I will not harm you,” he says. “I merely come to take what belongs to me.”

“Oh!” you say, turning over as if to crawl away, giving him a rather fine view of your backside. “But I can’t! I’m married!”

He pauses.

“You are married to me,” he says, clearly confused. “Yet I am also attacking you.”

“Stop interrupting the narrative,” you say. “I’m making this up as I go.”

“Very well,” he says, and continues his approach.

You bite your lip again, trying not to giggle as he grabs you by the hips and pulls you back towards him. He is kneeling on the bed now; he has—yes, thank Azura, he has removed his boots.

“Mine,” he growls, pulling you even closer towards him. You gasp as he kisses your lower back, then lowers his lips further still. You feel your face bloom bright red, your toes beginning to curl.

“Don’t do that,” you squeak.

“Mm,” he says, but he obliges you, and you ignore the fact that he’s smirking. Instead, he flips you around so that you are flat on your back now. Slowly, he lowers his still clothed body over your naked one, pressing his lips to yours and—

“Couldn’t you be a little less gentle?” you ask.

He pulls away, giving you a look.

You smile hopefully up at him.

“How gentle is too gentle,” he asks, clearly frustrated at this point.

“You’re supposed to be ravishing me,” you say. “Taking me by force. But, you know, not in a horrible way. Like in a romantic way.”

“I like kissing you gently,” he says, his brow furrowing, and it’s rather irritating, how cute you find it.

“Well, you could like hold me down or something,” you suggest, “maybe tangle your fingers in my hair. So I can’t escape.”

“Hold you down,” he repeats, arching a brow down at you. “Are you going to try to escape?”

“No,” you say, confused. “I mean, yes, in theory. But you won’t let me.”

“I should think not,” he says, and his pale eyes seem to darken, and now your pulse quickens, and soon he’s kissing you again, and, all right, it’s not a forceful sort of kiss, but it’s not so gentle, either, and now you’re moaning, and his hands are on your hips, holding you down, which is quite frustrating, because you have a burning desire to move, to thrust yourself up against him.

“So eager,” he says, chuckling, his voice husky as he sucks against your neck.

“Eager to get away from you,” you say, but it’s a little hard to stay in character now, because now his hand has shifted, and he’s wrapped his fingers around you, and you can’t help but whimper, and honestly, this doesn’t really feel all that different from the way you normally have sex, but the truth is you’re quite happy with the way you usually do things, even though you’ve been together for two years now.

“Do you want to turn around?” he asks, murmuring the words into your ear as he nibbles on the lobe, making you shudder.

“You’re not supposed to ask,” you gasp, your feet starting to paddle against the sheets now. When did he reach for the oil? You really should pay better attention.

He snorts, and removes his hand only long enough to wrap an arm around your waist, shifting to kiss you deeply before then turning you over. Now his fingers are sliding over your ass, questing, slipping inside, making you groan your eagerness against the pillow now clutched tightly between your hands, and if you inadvertently press your ass back against his fingers, well, it’s hardly your fault, for all he chuckles and teases you for it.

“Hurry,” you say, trying not to whimper again as he continues to tease you.

“Do handsome young men typically give their ravishers orders in bed?” he asks, but he has removed his fingers, and you squirm happily, knowing what’s next.

“A ravisher wouldn’t tease,” you snap over your shoulder, fingers still squeezing the pillow for dear life. “You’re supposed to just take me.“

“As my lord husband commands,” he says, but before you can yell at him for breaking character, he begins to press the head of his cock against your entrance, and you close your eyes and breathe in, relaxing from force of habit.

He slides inside and rests against you for a moment. His hands have pulled your hips up; they do so again, until you are on your knees, your hot face still pressed into the pillow. Then he starts to move, gently and shallowly at first, hips pivoting slowly forward, in time with the rapid breaths pushing in and out of your lungs. His hand dips below your belly, fingers folding around you again, thumb rubbing over the tip.

“Faster,” you say, and he obeys, skin slapping against skin. You’ve always wished the bed might creak the way it does in the saucier novels you sometimes read (novels you’re not quite sure he knows you read, and truthfully, you’d rather not _know_ if he knows), but no, it’s sturdier than a Dwemer ruin. You close your eyes and let yourself finally go, moaning as he fucks you. You can feel your release coming; when it finally hits you, you cry out, not bothering to muffle your voice with the pillow. His hand releases you then so he can grasp you firmly by the hips; his thrusts quicken and you’re too awash in your own momentary euphoria to take note of how he’s thoroughly using and enjoying your body. He comes with a low grunt and a gasp, fingertips digging into your skin as he presses himself firmly against you, emptying himself inside you.

You slide back down to your stomach once he finally releases you, your legs feeling like jelly. He lies down beside you, on his back. His cheeks are flushed as he pants, his chest rising and falling with each quick, ragged breath.

You blink, still dazed and utterly sated. But then you sort of wiggle and can’t help making a face.

“We forgot to put a towel under us,” you say.

He turns his head and looks at you, still breathing heavily, a wondrous expression on his face. Then he laughs and shifts, turning on his side so he can wrap his arms around you and pull you close, cuddling your body against his.

“I liked that,” he says, nuzzling you from behind. “We should do it again.”

“You need to practice,” you say. “And maybe next time I should be dressed. Then you could tear my clothes off of me.”

“The tailor would be very disappointed in us,” he says, but you can tell he is amused.

“I can live with that,” you say.

You’re getting very sleepy. You don’t like the thought of going to bed with the mess you made just sitting there. You suppose you can pull the sheets off in the morning though. Tomorrow’s the day to wash sheets, isn’t it? Of course then the servants will see it, and you’ll be embarrassed, but still, you’re too sleepy to care right now. Your husband's arm slides away for a moment, but only to pull the blankets and furs up around you. You feel him shifting behind you, probably removing his own clothing. Then he lies back down. His arm is around your waist again, pulling you close against him again. His nose is buried in your hair. His breath evens out against the back of your neck.

You sigh, close your eyes, and smile.


	37. Casien 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: About a month after Casien returns from the college in Book 1. Specifically, takes place about two weeks after "Where the Heart Lives."
> 
> Summary: _Casien has planned a picnic with Ulfric, but, unfortunately, a king's time isn't his own._

The Littlest of Pleasures Can Be The Greatest of Joys

 

“But it’ll just be an hour,” he said, his voice rising in pitch in a way I was beginning to recognize.

It was almost child-like, and so at odds with his habitual seriousness that I had to struggle to keep the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“And it is an hour I do not have to spare,” I said, glancing at the mirror one last time before turning to face him.

He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, only partially dressed. He had been to see the tailor, or so Una had informed me, and already I could see the difference. The handsome blue tunic accentuated his figure in a way the looser tunics he was used to wearing never had. He had yet to pull on trousers— _spoiled already_ , I thought fondly—and so the tunic pooled just past his hips, leaving his folded legs completely bare.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes upward to meet his own, guileless expression. Many years from now, he would have recognized the desire on my face and teased me for it, but now he only blinked at me, clearly disappointed by my continued refusal.

“The girls and I have been planning it for days now,” he continued. “We’ve only been waiting for the weather to clear. Last night Inge and Nella baked tarts especially for the picnic, and Una said Galmar should be able to spare a few guards to accompany us, just in case. Oh, and Asgar actually found strawberries in the market! And Hellina said she found a wine that would be perfect…”

He trailed off as I approached him, his head tilting back slightly as he looked up at me. I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face then, for his own looked so despondent. Yet I had seen him when he was truly at his lowest—had, truthfully, even been the cause of those low feelings, and had hated myself immensely for it. But now I could see that he was merely, in a word—pouting.

And it was achingly adorable.

“Perhaps some other time,” I said, even knowing that it would likely be impossible. “I have too much business to attend to today, and I cannot afford to waste even an hour to—

“It wouldn’t be a _waste_ ,” he said, bristling.

I paused, suitably chastened.

“My apologies,” I said. “I can concede that spending time with you is never a ‘waste’.”

“And the girls, too.”

“True enough. Though in fairness I have known them their entire lives. You, however, I have not. And therefore every hour of every day that we spend together is precious to me.”

“So—

“And yet I am not always free to spend my time as I would wish it,” I said, interrupting him with what I hoped was not too stern a look—evidently not, as he merely rolled his eyes. “I cannot give up my duties simply to spend time with my nieces and my beloved, however much I may wish to.”

“Ugh,” he muttered, cupping his palms around his now reddening face. I was mildly confused, until I realized this was merely the result of me referring to him as my ‘beloved.’

I gazed down at him, struck anew by his sweetness—and my overwhelming affection for him.

My love for him, it must be admitted, and I do not know why I was so hesitant to remind myself of how deeply I loved him— _had_ loved him, even before we had been separated so cruelly. I had said as much to Galmar, bearing my soul to my oldest friend, who’d only sighed and told me that he would support me, even if he thought me a Nine-be-damned fool.

He wasn’t wrong. I was a fool for the young man before me. The very same creature who pouted and blushed and rolled his eyes before me was the one who held my heart in his small hands. And I had never been happier for it.

“Casien,” I said.

He looked up at me again.

“I’m sorry. But I will see you tonight.” I cupped his face with one hand then, and leaned down to kiss him. His lips were achingly soft against my own, and I suppressed the groan of desire I could feel building in the back of my throat.

“Enjoy the picnic with the girls,” I murmured before straightening.

“Not without you,” he insisted stubbornly.

I cast him one last stern look but said nothing before turning and making my way out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.

The morning was uneventful, though no less busy for being so. I had an early meeting with Lia and Griselda which involved both of them lecturing me until I felt the beginnings of a headache already pounding behind both eyes. Next came a series of meetings with various merchants and noble families from within the city, each wanting something from the crown and pleading their case in the most sycophantic of ways possible. Around mid-morning I was forced to remove myself from my office and their presence to sit before my petitioners—who were somehow less frustrating to listen to than their so-called social betters. Afterward, Galmar insisted on pulling me out into the yard to discuss the overhaul of the new training grounds—and naturally the horse master interrupted us to insist that we could not spare the room. I left her and Galmar arguing over who was more important—the new recruits of a standing army during peace time—or their horses.

I thought it would be best for my health—and my sanity—if I took my lunch upstairs instead of in the office. I paused to tell Jorleif as much, but he seemed unusually insistent that I do the opposite.

“I really think it would be best if you stayed here, my lord,” he said, even standing up from his desk.

I paused in the doorway to his office, which served as an antechamber to my own, and frowned at him.

“I shall take the suggestion under advisement,” I said dryly, and turned to go.

“My lord, wait!”

I turned around, slowly, and looked at him.

He took a deep breath, folded his hands behind him, and gave a slow, exaggerated nod towards my closed office door. Then he mouthed one word—a name, in fact—slowly and silently: _Casien_.

I lifted both eyebrows in sudden understanding.

“Is anything the matter?” I thought to ask, keeping my voice low.

He shook his head quickly, waving his hands in front of him.

“Oh, no, no!” he whispered. “I think it’s—ah—perhaps you had best just go in, my lord.”

Perplexed, yet not exactly unhappy to know that my lover was waiting for me in my office, I nodded and proceeded forward.

When I opened the door, I couldn’t help but stop and blink at what was there to greet me.

“Surprise!!”

Several smiling faces turned to face me: Galmar’s five daughters as well as the eldest’s beloved—and my own beloved, his round face beaming with smug pleasure. The windows behind my desk had been thrown up, the curtains now ruffled by the calm summer breeze. Sunlight streamed through the open window, and on the sill, my desk, and in various other places about the room, vases of flowers and other green, growing things had been placed. Additionally, several blankets had been lain out, covering the cold, stone floor beneath. And at the center of each was a large, filled-to-the-brim, picnic basket.

“What’s all this…?” I finally asked, doing my best to disguise my great astonishment.

“I _said_ ‘not without you’,” said my lover, coming forward to take my hand. He leaned up to kiss my cheek, and I leaned down without thought to oblige him.

“Since you refused to come picnic with us,” said Ania, grinning, “We decided to bring the picnic to you.”

“Have a tart!” said young Nella, offering me the basketful.

I reached down with my free hand, and took one.

“Try it!” urged Inge.

It was delicious. I felt little pieces of dough sprinkling onto my beard as I chewed, but I couldn’t wipe them away, as my lover still had hold of my hand. The girls all began to take seats on the blankets then, and he pulled me down beside him. Hellina opened the bottle of wine and offered me a glass—I looked to make sure that the younger girls were not partaking, and was relieved to see that they were drinking what I supposed must be lemonade or some other form of juice.

Premade sandwiches were distributed, and I took mine with, I’m sure, a rather bemused expression on my face. The girls were all chattering with one another then, and my lover finally released my hand, but only so he could wrap both of his around one of my arms and lean against me.

“You are not hungry?” I asked, gazing down at him.

He smiled up at me.

“I am,” he said.

I handed him a sandwich, and he laughed, finally releasing me so he could take it.

“You’re not angry, are you?” he asked.

I realized, then, that I had likely troubled him with my reaction—or lack thereof. I was used to restraining my emotions, biting back my frustrations or even dimming my own pleasures.

“No,” I said, allowing a smile to pull at the corners of my mouth. “I am not angry.” Then, I thought to add: “I am indeed very happy.”

He smiled, the expression blossoming over his lovely face. I could not resist kissing him then, though I knew it would make him blush. Predictably, the girls all ceased their chatter to coo at us, and I felt my own face warming unexpectedly, and sought to disguise it with a chuckle.

“Uncle in love might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” teased Una, who now gazed at me with an expression far too mature for her seventeen years.

“Or the weirdest,” said Ania, only to be elbowed in the side by her pretty lover.

The others all laughed, and I allowed myself to fully relax, or to at least try and not think about the work that would be waiting for me after we finished.

That evening, I made sure to spend no more than an hour in the office after dinner. By the time I finally made it back upstairs, I found my lover wrapped in a robe, freshly bathed, and curled up with a book on the bed— _our bed_ , I thought, the words igniting a spark of joy and desire within me. I chastised myself as I came and sat down beside him, for it would do me little good to allow these new feelings to constantly overwhelm me in such a fashion.

“What are you reading?” I asked, though he had already set the book aside so he could wrap himself around me, his cheek now resting against my shoulder.

“It’s a story about a pair of princes in High Rock,” he said, closing his eyes. “Una’s loaning it to me.”

“Mm.” I stretched my legs out before me and shifted, so that I might wrap one arm around his smaller frame. “Is it a love story?”

“Yes,” he said. I could feel his mouth curling into a small, for his face was half-pressed against my skin.

“So they are in love,” I said, turning my own face slightly so that I could press a kiss against his forehead. “These two princes.”

“Yes,” he said, then gave a soft, fluttering laugh as I began to trail my kisses down his face, fluttering over each closed eyelid, then nibbling on his nose before brushing over his lips.

He moaned, shuddering in my arms and arching slightly against me. And just like that, I was undone. I wrapped my other arm around him, holding his body briefly, ardently, against my own before shifting us both—him on his back, and I above him.

We had made love every night since our return, and still I could not get enough of him. And I knew, too, that he could not get enough of me—how it made my heart sing! How truly my nieces had spoken—how silly I must have appeared, a man at my age, so passionately and devotedly in love. And yet none of them mocked me for it, and neither did their parents, who only persisted in teasing me, either fondly or gruffly, depending on the source.

And my lover. More than any one, he must have known what a fool I had become. Yet he did not seem to admire me any less for it.

 _I love you_. I wished to say the words, whisper them into his ear as we lay panting together afterward, tangled up in one another’s arms. Yet something held me back. It wasn’t that I thought he didn’t know—how could he not? It would take time, I supposed, before I could learn to be comfortable with how I felt. To experience love for the first time in thirty-eight years was no small thing.

“I’m glad I made you happy today,” he said, murmuring the words softly between us.

“You make me happy every day,” I said, the words slipping out of me before I could properly rein them in.

He only sighed in response, snuggling up closer against me, and resting his cheek on my bare chest. I wrapped an arm around his spent, pliant body, and soon I could tell from his even breaths that he had fallen asleep.

 _I love you_. I turned my head to kiss his forehead, murmuring the words against his hair, smiling at my own cowardice.

 _Thirty-eight more years_. I sent the thought up towards the heavens, towards the gods, as though it were a prayer. _Give me thirty-eight more years with him, and I shall be happy._

_I shall finally be happy._


	38. Casien 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: About six months post-marriage
> 
> Summary: When Casien falls ill right before Ulfric's birthday, he panics over what gift to give his new husband.

The illness spread quickly. It was subtle at first; all five Stone-Fist girls had a little cough one Sun’s Dusk morning, but no one thought anything of it. It was the season for it, after all; the air had become very dry, and we were all working ourselves a little too hard to make sure the city was ready for winter. In the end, there was no time to prepare, no time to quarantine the jarl’s fragile young husband, squirrel him away for days on end to protect the frailest denizen of the palace.

The others didn’t like it when I talked about myself like that. But _you_ spend an entire week confined to your bedroom and see if you don’t become unabashedly grumpy and bitter and generally a nuisance to be around.

Even worse—my new husband’s birthday was in two days, and I was still unable to leave our apartment.

Even the dining room was off limits. _Too drafty_ , the healer cautioned. No, not even if I were to be wrapped up in a blanket and carried there as if I were an invalid. _The size of the fireplace is insufficient to keep the room properly heated, my lord. I am afraid that if we do not wish him to become ill again, that he must remain where he is._

And as my doting new husband tended to treat me as if I were made of porcelain and glass when I was ill, the healer’s orders were to be followed to the letter.

“Don’t pout,” said Ania. “It makes you look like a little troll. Uncle will take one look at your face and change his mind about everything.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Una, “But she’s right that you should stop worrying. We’ll celebrate here, in the apartment. It’ll be fine.”

“What if you get sick again and die?” said Nella, crawling into bed beside me and holding my hand in her own.

“He’s not going to die,” said Inge, rolling her eyes.

“Do you think Uncle would remarry?” asked Asgar.

“Don’t you girls have lessons?” asked Una sharply.

I liked the younger ones, but sometimes they made my head ache. Which was supposedly a sign that I was not completely well yet, along with the dizzy feeling I got when I had to get up to use the washroom. I sighed, and plucked at my blankets.

“Do you think he _would_ remarry?” I asked, my voice small.

“Ugh,” said Ania, and Una huffed and gave her older sister a little smack on the arm.

I didn’t think he would. But I supposed it wouldn’t matter very much to me at that point, as I would have been dead.

As I was not yet dead, I decided to spend my time agonizing over what I could do for his birthday. I couldn’t leave my room, so purchasing a gift was out of the question. I couldn’t bake him anything; the kitchen was decidedly off limits. I couldn’t even pick him flowers and put them in a pretty vase. Not that I knew whether he would like flowers.

What _did_ he like?

I picked up the book of poetry I’d been reading and flipped absently through the pages. It was one of his. Here and there were little notations, comments, reference to other works, other authors. I thought of the letters he had written me last year, how he liked to write me little poems—how he sometimes still did, when he left me a note in the morning, or recited a favorite line or two to me as he held me and kissed me—(gently, for I was made of porcelain and glass, remember?)

Paper. I needed paper.

I got to my feet and made my shaky way towards the study, where I found several pieces of parchment, along with a pen and ink. I thought a few more books of poetry for inspiration might do as well. I gathered everything together and returned to the bedroom, setting it all down on the lap desk he sometimes used.

How hard could it be? A pretty image or two, my feelings put to words. I was fond of poetry myself; I had several of my favorites virtually memorized, the pages of the first book he’d gifted me nearly worn at the edges, so often did I turn them. I was practically an expert.

Two hours later found me frustrated, depressed, and covered in ink up to my elbows.

I lay back against the pillows with a sigh, faint tears of frustration stinging the corners of my eyes.

The outer door opened and closed, and I frowned, gearing myself up to shoo my new, so-called “nieces” (who, granted, were more like sisters to me) away, for I was in no mood to chat or joke.

The sudden dipping of the mattress surprised me. I opened my eyes—then opened them wider, a flush coming to my cheeks. For there was my husband, gazing down at me with an anxious expression.

“How do you feel?” he asked, laying the back of his hand gently against my forehead.

I frowned and sat up, pushing his hand away.

“I’m fine,” I said.

I glanced down. No wonder he had managed to move so silently. Of all the times for him to remember to remove his boots before entering the bedroom—

Realization hit me like a flash of lightning. I started, and moved to hastily shuffle the papers before me, to turn them over or crumple them up—but my bemused husband had already reached for one sheet, holding it up and smiling slightly as he read it.

“What is this?” he asked, his smile widening ever so slightly.

I felt the flush begin to consume my entire face.

“It’s nothing,” I said.

“ _My love is like the ocean waves… the rays of sunshine… the first blooms of spring…_ ” He murmured each horrid line aloud, his eyes beginning to twinkle as he did so. When they met mine again, I wanted to die right there, just simply become one with the blankets and sink down into Oblivion itself.

“You are writing poetry,” he said, lowering the sheet of paper.

“No,” I said. I wondered if it was possible for my skin to actually catch fire.

His eyes narrowed—playfully, I thought—and he looked at the paper again.

“Is it for me?” he asked, and if I weren’t so embarrassed (and weak), I would have grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his handsome face.

“I’m _trying_ ,” I finally said, frustration abruptly pouring out of me. “All right? You don’t have to laugh at my efforts.”

“I am not laughing,” he said, but his lips kept twitching in a strange sort of way.

“Yes, you are,” I complained.

“Is this for my birthday?” he asked.

“NO,” I said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. I lay back down then with a sigh and reached for the nearest pillow anyway, only I pulled it over my own face instead of hurtling it at his.

After a moment, he reached down to gently push the pillow away from my face.

“I am greatly honored by the effort,” he said.

“You’re still mocking me,” I accused.

“I am not.”

He leaned down to nuzzle my face as if to prove me wrong, eventually brushing his lips against mine for a kiss. I kissed him eagerly back, but he pulled away, gentle chastisement warring on his face with desire.

“I won’t break if you kiss me,” I said, frowning.

Instead of answering, he only smiled and cupped my face, his fingers stroking my cheek gently.

“Do you know what I would like most for my birthday,” he said after a moment, his eyes dancing merrily again.

“What?” I asked, suspicious.

“For you to be well again.” He eased himself more onto the bed, pausing to set the lap desk aside before gently settling in beside me. “So that I can kiss you again. Hold you.” He did so now, slipping an arm carefully around me. “Make love to you.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss against the side of my face.

I sighed, and tried not to think about the desire his touch was already igniting within me. I thought of dying again, and how unbecoming it would be to die naked, in bed, with my husband on top of me. Only I should have to return as a ghost, so that I might haunt the palace and be certain that he never married again, but that meant I would see the Stone-Fist girls again, and surely they would laugh and laugh: _Oh, Uncle, you killed Casien with your little-Uncle. How embarrassing._

I snorted, suddenly having to bite back the laughter that threatened to escape me.

“What?” he asked, his own voice tinged with amusement.

“Nothing,” I said.

He hummed and settled in even more, kissing me once again. Suddenly tired, I forced myself to shift so that I faced him, so that I could snuggle up against his chest. I don’t know which of us fell asleep first.

It was an uneventful thirty-ninth birthday for my husband. But that morning, we made love for the first time in over a week. I told him _Happy birthday_ , and he smiled, and kissed me until I laughed.


	39. Casien 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few months post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: Ulfric finds his new husband asleep in the library and brings him quietly to bed. A few months after the moot, they both have to learn what it means to be married to one another.

Ulfric did not look up from the document he was studying when the knock sounded on the other side of the door.

“Enter,” he said.

“My lord…” Griselda’s voice still did not make him look up; it was late, and he had a meeting first thing tomorrow; if he were not fully prepared, the Yorgrim mayor was likely to—

“I think I may have found what you were looking for,” Griselda continued.

He paused. After a second, he lifted his cheek from his fist and met her eyes across the room. She raised her eyebrows in a way that had always rather irritated him, but this time, he gave a little start.

“Where?” he asked, pushing his chair back and getting immediately to his feet. He was more than a little ashamed of the way his heart began to race—since when did confrontation of any sort bring about such a reaction within him?

“The library,” she said, stepping aside as he made his way past her. “Fast asleep.”

He paused.

“Asleep?” he asked, turning to face her again.

“Aye, my lord.”

“He did not seem… in distress?”

She gave him one of her frank looks.

“He was asleep, my lord.”

He nodded and continued on his way.

It was late—very late. Their argument had happened very early this morning; he could scarcely even recall the specifics. His young husband chaffed at the restrictions he had insisted upon their return from Whiterun. It was for his own safety, he had argued, but it was also for his own personal peace of mind—something he would not allow himself to voice aloud. And yet all of this was his own fault. He had not married a noble, someone used to being a person of import, and therefore requiring protection. He had not married a soldier, someone willing to take orders from him without question. No, he had instead married the great love of his life—a young man, a former servant, yes, but someone he adored, not just for his beauty and his wit, but for his stubbornness, his independence, his unwillingness to ever truly believe that he was less than any other person around him.

The halls were dark, only a few of the sconces still lit at such an hour. But he found his way to the library easily, pausing to note the emptiness of the main sitting area before going to check behind several other shelves. And there, curled up in one of the arm chairs, a book hugged to his chest, his cheek resting against the side of the chair, was his beloved.

Ulfric pulled the book gently from his slack hands before stooping to gently scoop him up into his arms. He didn’t stir. Anxiety over their argument must have kept him up far later than he was used to, and now he was quite dead to the world. He carried him out of the library and down the hallway, towards the stairs leading up to the third floor. Before his apartment, the soldier stationed there moved to open the door for him. He offered the woman a grateful nod.

It wasn’t until he’d laid his burden carefully out in their bed before he realized a pair of soft, sleepy brown eyes were gazing up at him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, sitting down beside him. He took one small hand in his, squeezing it gently.

His husband only smiled tiredly up at him.

He opened his mouth, wanting to push the apology past his tongue, but he couldn’t for some reason. He was no longer angry, no, and was heartily sorry for upsetting his beloved so much that he had all but disappeared for most of the day. But the matter hadn’t exactly resolved itself: Casien was the consort to the High King now. His life was no longer his own.

“It’s okay.”

His husband’s words startled him, making him blink.

Casien smiled again.

“I was being a baby again,” he admitted. “I just… find it hard to accept that I’m… more than myself now. And I guess I don’t like forcing guards who have much better things to do to follow me about town every time I want to go visit Helgird or the bookstore or the market. But…”

Ulfric swallowed, squeezing the hand in his once more.

“My words were overly harsh this morning,” he allowed. “I let my fear for your safety overcome my—

“No,” Casien interrupted. “Don’t apologize. You apologize too much to me, and it isn’t fair.” He sighed then, and pulled his hand away, but only so he could stretch. “What time is it?”

“Well past midnight, I believe.”

Casien grimaced.

“You put me in bed with my shoes on…” Before he could sit up and lean forward to pull them off, however, Ulfric moved to do so himself, pulling the laces free so he could slip each boot off and lay it beside the bed.

His husband made a pleasant, humming sort of sound. “Will you undress the rest of me, too?” he asked, his expression impish.

His words sent a spark of desire thrumming through him, and Ulfric had to pause and swallow.

“You are not tired?” he asked, reaching down now to cup one freckled cheek, his thumb stroking against the soft skin there as if on its own volition.

Another impish smile.

“Of course I’m tired. But I can still… you know… while tired.”

He couldn’t help the little smile he felt tugging at his own lips; as happy and comfortable in their marriage as his young lover had become, he was still shy about certain things. Talking about sex was one of them, and it amused him and endeared him to him in so many ways.

“Then by my lord’s leave,” he murmured, shifting, leaning down to brush his lips against his husband’s, “I shall undress him as he so desires…”

He swallowed the little giggle his words inspired with a kiss, a kiss that only grew in passion as he shifted further, settling his body over his beloved’s. This, he was beginning to realize, was not an uncommon way for their arguments to end, and he could not help sending a prayer up to Mara as he continued his kisses, drawing soft moans and shudders from the body beneath his own.

He did not deserve to be loved by such a person as this. And yet…

Sometime later, he gazed at the sleeping face cuddled close to his own, his own fingers still gently stroking through curling dark hair, careful to avoid the sensitive, pointed ear. Soft, even breaths puffed against his skin, the narrow chest lying pliant against his own rising and falling in time. He often didn’t quite know what to make of their differences—why the gods had brought two such opposites together, made them fall headlong in love with one another, damning the consequences—and so he tended to dwell on those things they had in common: their love of literature and history, their natural independence, their devotion to their respective causes.

Most who didn’t _truly_ know them could _only_ see their differences—could only turn their noses up at their union, shake their heads, whisper cruel things he knew he could not shield his young lover from.

But those who knew them knew better.

And for that small blessing, he supposed he was grateful.


	40. Casien 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: Post-Book 3. Casien is _probably_ about 27 here.
> 
> Summary: From the APM prompt, "prison cell": _During a diplomatic trip to Riften, Casien finds himself in a tricky situation that unfortunately brings back many painful memories._

I couldn’t sleep, that first night in Riften—small wonder, as I’d been so tired from the journey I’d fallen asleep in our room for several hours after lunch was served. Ulfric, along with Galmar and Ania, had been in meetings all day, so there had been no one to wake me until dinnertime. This ‘mini-moot,’ as I’d taken to calling it—though no one save Ania and myself seemed to find that amusing—was for the military-minded, as it involved talks on maintaining the security of Skyrim’s southern border. Traditionally, I ought to have remained in Windhelm, but I don’t think we were either of us ready to stomach another long separation after everything we’d been through, so when I asked to accompany him, my indulgent husband took very little convincing.

It was no use trying to read. The fire had died down, and I didn’t wish to waste a candle, or to wake the person slumbering beside me in an effort to locate one. After a moment, I carefully pushed the blankets back and eased myself out of bed. I pulled my clothes on from earlier—they had all been rather rapidly shucked off, as nothing seemed to ignite our passion for one another like a proper bath and a soft bed after a long journey—along with my boots before creeping quietly to the door and letting myself out.

There was probably a library, I thought, somewhere. The halls of Mistveil Keep were not so vast as the Palace of the Kings, but they were small and close, and I naturally found myself getting lost fairly quickly, especially as I hadn’t exactly been given a tour yet. I started trying rooms at random, if they were unlocked, once I was sure of passing out of the occupied guest wing. One was a washroom, another a hallway closet for the servants. One opened onto a rather pretty balcony. It was chilly outside, despite the season, so I quickly closed the door.

There were empty guest rooms, or so I thought they must be. Bored, I wandered inside one or two, pulling open drawers and armoires, surprised to see that some were fully stocked. Perhaps some of the area nobles had rooms kept for them, should they ever happen to stop by.

I was rummaging through one such room, pulling open the top draw of a pretty white vanity and admiring a rather splendid looking necklace. I was hardly an expert on such things, but I thought it something Asgar or Inge might favor, or perhaps even their mother. I was about to lay it carefully back down when I heard, suddenly, behind me—

“Hey!!”

I whirled around, so startled that I’m sure I looked rather guilty. My heart only began to beat faster when the palace guard standing in the doorway placed his hand on his hilt and began to walk towards me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quickly replacing the necklace and closing the drawer. “I know I shouldn’t have been snooping. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake my husband, so I—

“Likely story,” he said, shocking me even more when he reached out and grabbed me by the upper arm. “Damn thief. Couldn’t have come up with something more convincing?”

He snorted, then, and gave my arm a tug, causing me to stumble.

“Come on,” he said.

“Where are we going?” I asked, when I really ought to have asked him why he felt he had the right to handle me so roughly.

“Where do you think? Now shut your trap and start walking or I’ll have to drag you.”

Real, genuine alarm began to wash over me now. I stumbled again to keep up with the guard’s quick pace, even as my mind went partially blank, trying to figure out what to do. How could the man be unaware of my presence? Everyone surely knew that Ulfric Stormcloak was in town, and staying here at the palace, and that his husband—I couldn’t imagine that anyone _didn’t_ know that Ulfric Stormcloak had married a Dunmer by now—had accompanied him.

“I’m not lying,” I managed, my heart still racing, as he half-dragged me down the hallway. “My name is Casien Yedlin. I’m Ulfric’s husband. I couldn’t sleep—

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to make you,” came the short reply, and it was so cold, so devoid of sympathy that I decided not to test his patience.

Surely, I thought, there would be another guard or two down in the prison. I didn’t envy this fellow when he learned that I’d been telling the truth. He would likely lose his position.

I swallowed as we passed through another heavy door and began to head down some stone steps. I could hear drops of water trickling here and there, echoing, almost as though we were in a cave or sewer. I shivered a little, and tried not to slip on the steps.

The cell room was eerily similar to the one I’d encountered in Farrun, in the Thalmor stronghold. It was enough to send me into momentary panic, and I squirmed without thinking, twisting my arm as though to break the guard’s hold on me. But he was prepared for this, his grip only tightening to such an extent that it gave me real pain, and tears actually sprang at the corners of my eyes.

“Please,” I said, as he reached for the keys hanging nearby with one hand and moved to open one of the cell doors. “Don’t put me in there. This is a misunderstanding. I’m Ulfric’s—!!

But he cut me off, having swung the door open, and shoved me forward so that I stumbled to my knees, palms scraping against the cold stone floor. I knelt there, disbelieving for a moment, before turning, crawling, then quickly rising up to grip the bars of the cell door.

“Please!” I cried, for the guard had already turned away. “Just fetch someone—anyone! I promise I’m not a thief!”

I listened to the guard’s retreating footsteps until I couldn’t hear them anymore. Eventually, I heard the faint sound of the heavy door opening and closing again.

After a moment, I sank back down to my heels. I leaned my cheek against the cold bars, my fingers still gripping them hard. I felt tears starting to slip down my cheeks and irritably told myself to stop being silly. This was terrible, granted, but someone would find me—eventually.

The guard, for example. He would hear rather quickly of my being missing, and once he put two and two together, surely he—but no. Suppose he feared the repercussions? My husband, when he learned of my fate, would be a man enraged; it would take everything in my power to control him and convince him to spare the guard’s life. Perhaps anticipating this, the guard would leave, vacate his position before anyone were the wiser.

But surely there were other guards. They would come down here at some point, I supposed—until it occurred to me that I appeared to be the only prisoner here. Why _would_ anyone feel the need to come down here?

The flickering shadows on the wall opposite my cell ultimately gave me my answer: I wasn’t sitting here in total darkness—and that meant servants. Someone had to come down here and relight the lamps. I shivered, my gaze lingering sadly on the cold, empty fireplace. I thought about searching blindly within my cell for something to cover myself with, a blanket perhaps, but the thought of going deeper within that confined space filled me with dread.

I had my magic, of course, but to what end? I had escaped the prison in Whiterun by utilizing the snap freeze spell, but the iron bars here were too thick. Fire, ice, lightning—I couldn’t see how any of it could help me. Illusion magic, my second strongest subject—though I supposed, as I was no longer in school, I really should stop calling them that—also seemed relatively useless in this particular situation. No, my best bet was to sit tight and wait for someone to find me.

So I did. I eventually eased myself into one corner, my cheek still leaning against the cold bars, my knees drawn up to my chest. To help myself resist the panic still thrumming in my chest, and to ignore the tears still occasionally slipping down my cheeks, I thought of the little things that made me happy. Biting into a warm slice of jazbay pie, or stroking my cat’s soft belly, or burrowing myself in my husband’s embrace. I thought of watching Ania spar in the yard, or Una feeding the baby, or Ysme showing me how to shoot a bow. I had no reason to be so upset, truly. It was unfortunate, and it was embarrassing, but I wasn’t in any real danger.

I had no way of knowing how much time had passed at any given moment. It had been a few hours before dawn when I’d been taken. Would Ulfric be alarmed when he woke up and saw that I was not there? I knew him well enough to know the answer: yes. But the others would try to calm him, Galmar especially. Perhaps I had gone out. There was no need to panic. I was prone to wandering, wasn’t I? And when it came to heeding the warnings of my loved ones, well. How many times had I been instructed to quarantine myself when some illness or other swept through the castle, only I refused to do so, and suffered the consequences? How often did I insist that I could do a thing myself, that I alone knew the solution, that I didn’t need the advice or consultation of anyone else? True, those were mostly the ill judgments of youth, but my reputation most definitely preceded me. I could see Ulfric being convinced to excuse my absence as nothing serious, and go on with the anticipated meetings of the day.

It was _so cold_. I tried to wrap my arms more tightly around my chest; even to myself, though, my movements felt sluggish and dazed. I was hungry, I realized—my stomach growled as if to point out the obvious. It must be past breakfast time. So my husband had been convinced to not worry about me after all.

I had to, of all things, make use of the toilet. Only there _was_ no toilet. I shuffled reluctantly, blindly, around the cell, hoping to find something, even a bucket, but there was nothing. Fortunately, the only thing demanding attention at present was my bladder—but I still felt disgusting, humiliated, as I was forced to relieve myself in a corner furthest from where I’d been sitting.

I fell asleep. A half-sleep, I should say, for I still felt aware of my surroundings on some level, yet I became lost in dreams… dreams of being left here, of never being found. Absurd dreams wherein someone _did_ discover me, only chose to leave me behind. The people I loved assuming I was dead. Returning home to Windhelm, grief-stricken.

When the door finally opened again it startled me awake, though it took me some few seconds to realize where I was and recall what had happened. When the girl appeared with the jar of oil, my heart leapt in my throat, and I sprang into action, leaning forward and gripping the bars anew.

“Help!” I said, and to her credit, though she started and gasped as if she’d seen a ghost, she did not drop the jar of oil she was carrying.

“You’re…!” She backed away, her whole face turning white. “You’re Ulfric’s… oh!!”

Clearly overwhelmed—and I knew how servants thought; I had been one myself, many years ago—she turned as though to hurry back up the stairs—to inform someone far more important than herself, I supposed.

“No!” I cried, reaching out through the bars as though I could grab her and prevent her leaving. “Please! Please don’t go, please let me out! _Please_!”

I was crying again, and I must have looked a pitiful thing, for she paused, stared at me with huge eyes… and, after a moment, set the oil down and ran to reach for the key ring with shaking fingers.

As soon as the door swung open, I felt silly. I wiped at my eyes with shaking hands, and I could see the pity on her face now, replacing the shock and anxiety she’d displayed earlier.

She blinked at me.

“My lord, are you… are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, which I’m convinced is the one thing people who _aren’t_ fine always tend to say. “Where is… are they looking for me? Did they notice I was gone?”

“Oh, Nine, yes!” she said, looking as though she couldn’t believe I even had to ask. “We’ve all been tearing the keep apart looking for your lordship. Your king is sick with worry, they say; he roars like a bear, then looks as though he might throw himself over a bridge the very next second.”

My heart sank at this. But then a sudden longing rose up in me to see him again, to cling tightly to him and reassure him that I was here, I was safe; he need not worry himself any longer.

I felt an arm slip gently around my own.

“Come along, my lord,” said the servant, her voice soothing now. “We’ll go and find him, shall we?”

I nodded, and let her lead me towards the stairs. I glanced back one last time at the dank little cell and felt suddenly dizzy, so that it was a good thing she had hold of me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my face burning, and I could feel tears of shame and residual panic filling my eyes again. “I… I had to go, but there was nothing…”

“Shush, now,” she said. “Don’t worry about that. Someone’ll draw you up a warm bath; I’m sure you could use it. Must be hungry, too, poor lad.”

“Famished,” I admitted, and once we were back on the ground floor, I felt more sure of myself, my dizziness passed. But the servant retained careful hold of me, and together we made our way through the halls—until we encountered another servant, then a guard, then all hell broke loose as everyone rushed at once to either reassure me or rush off to find Jarl Laila or my husband.

“Casien…!”

Hearing my name on his lips stole the last shreds of my dignity from me. I rushed through the anxious crowd of guards and servants and threw myself into his arms. They wrapped tightly around me, held me close as I pressed my face into his neck, my fingers clenching through the fabric of his tunic. I knew he wished to check me over, to see if I were injured, to question me, ask me what happened, whether I was hurt—but instead he held me, and it was everything I had left inside me to keep myself from weeping openly.

“Take me back to our room,” I finally managed, the words a bit shaky as they left my mouth.

I felt his arms tighten reflexively around me before loosening, his eyes finally meeting mine.

“Can you assure me that you are safe?” he asked, his hands moving to grip me gently by the arms now, his expression earnest, anxious… and hard.

I swallowed. I needed to be in control right now; I could see that.

“I’m safe,” I said. “Now take me back.”

He hesitated for a moment before eventually nodding and, putting an arm securely around me, leading me away from the servants and guards, who no doubt felt as if they’d somehow miraculously escaped a death sentence. Along the way, we passed the others—Galmar and Ania, Jarl Laila and her steward, other well-to-do people feigning concern on my behalf. Ulfric brushed them all aside, and Galmar and Ania took their cue from him, doing the same and helping to clear our way back to our room.

Once we were alone together, I fell predictably apart. I suddenly couldn’t walk or stand, so he scooped me up and moved to settle himself in the chair beside the bed so I could sob in his arms. I knew I was weeping, not for the frightening, humiliating, but ultimately harmless night I’d spent in the keep dungeons, but for the trauma I had experienced in the past. Nonetheless, I felt incredibly embarrassed, and my shame-faced feelings only urged me to sob even more, even though I was long past blaming myself for showing such emotion in front of him.

I felt his entire body stiffen, once I was finally able to calm down and begin to try and explain what had happened. I kept wiping at my eyes and insisting that the guard was only doing his duty, for I kept it to myself how rough he had been with me—I didn’t think there was really any reason to reveal the whole truth of the matter.

“I’m sure he’s gone now,” I said, rubbing now at my nose with the heel of my hand. “It won’t do any good to try and find him. And he’ll not be able to get a reference for another job as it is.”

My husband sighed, though it sounded more like a growl as it rumbled through his chest.

“You do not wish to know what I would like to do to this _guardsman_.”

I managed a tired smile.

“I can imagine it well enough. Only…” I felt the smile fade from my face, the ghost of my previous feelings of panic washing over me, making the hair on my arms stand on end. “He couldn’t have known what that would do to me. Dragging me and locking me in that… place.”

When he didn’t respond, I lifted my eyes to meet his and saw from his expression years of guilt, anger, and frustration on my behalf rising to the fore.

“Don’t…” I began, but he shook his head and sighed again, one hand coming up to almost absently cup my cheek.

“Be at ease. I do not blame myself for all that you have endured. Not entirely, at least.”

“You didn’t ask me to marry you at knife point. I knew what I was getting into.”

He smiled, the expression rather sad.

“Did you truly?”

It was a fair question. And I think we both knew the answer: there would have been no way for a young servant to know what it truly meant to accept the hand of a jarl and soon-to-be high king. It would have been impossible—beyond his small understanding of the world he lived in—as much, perhaps as it would have been beyond the jarl to understand what it had been like to grow up poor on a farm that had grown fallow with ash and grief.

“Even if I had, I still would have said ‘yes’.” I smiled, and now it was my turn to cup his cheek, to stroke my thumb over his beard, my fingers curling behind his ear and under his strong jaw. “Kiss me,” I said, making the command as playful as I could. “Draw me a bath, and find me something to eat. In that order.”

“As you command it, so shall it be done,” he said, the hint of a smile finally tugging at his lips.

And so it was, though I suppose it was more like we kissed each other. And it was funny to think how I had imagined doing just that only a few hours ago, how it had been one of the few things that kept the terror of my past at bay within my mind.

The guardsman was never found. His fellows were thus required to pay for his mistake. I learned later that their jarl had reprimanded them severely, and that they were to work the rest of the week without pay as penance for allowing this to happen. I felt very aggrieved by this, but even Galmar assured me that he would have done the same. The entire household should have known who I was, should have been able to identify me without question. Had I been of a less forgiving nature, the situation could have very easily resulted in political destabilization, which was surely the last thing the country needed.

Our last night there, I asked my husband if he wasn’t angry with me, at least a little bit, for yet again wandering off on my own, thereby getting myself into trouble.

“I should sooner be angry at the sun for rising above the mountains every morning,” came the sleepy reply.

I snorted, gave his shoulder a playful slap, and snuggled closer against him.


	41. Casien 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few months after Book 1.
> 
> Summary: _It's almost Saturalia, and Casien still hasn't found a gift for the king. When the perfect gift finally catches his eye in a shop window, how much abuse is he willing to put up with to get it?_

I don’t know why a letter opener of all things caught my eye.

It was lying on a piece of dark, red velvet in the window display of the small stationary shop. The handle and blade were a sort of deep bronze color, and the handle had pretty, intricate little carvings of what looked like flowering vines. But I suppose what truly stood out the most to me was the little sapphire stone set in the middle, right where the hilt met the blade.

“What?” said a voice over my shoulder. “See something you like?”

I looked at Una, who had paused and come to stand beside me, one eyebrow slightly arched. We were both dressed very warmly, for there were only a few days left in the year, so naturally the snow was coming down quite heavily today. That also meant Saturalia was around the corner—the first I was to spend in the palace as a former servant—and I still hadn’t found a gift for the king.

Una sighed—I knew, because her breath fogged the glass that now separated us and the letter opener.

“It’s because it’s the same color as his eyes,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

I’m sure I blushed. She gave a little snort (that was somehow still very ladylike—I don’t know how she did it) but then she smiled.

“Come on,” she said, looping her arm with mine. “Let’s go inside.”

We entered the shop, the little bell overhead tinkling as we did. It was warm and cozy inside, and I had to be careful not to knock any of the little displays over as we both paused to knock the snow from our boots and off the shoulders of our cloaks.

“Lady Una!” said a man who I guessed must be the shopkeeper. He spread his arms wide as he approached us, his smile just as wide. “How may I assist you on this fine Evening Star morning!”

“This is my uncle’s intended,” she said. “He’s interested in the letter opener on display in the window.”

“Your uncle’s…” The man turned to look at me, blinking. “Nine above. A _Dunmer_?”

I don’t know why I hadn’t expected such a reaction. It had already happened many times before. As soon as people realized who I was, they showed their disgust and their shock in one way or another. Most tried to be polite about it, for it wouldn’t do to upset the creature currently sharing the bed of their jarl. But prejudice and distrust ran deeply in Windhelm, and no amount of love shared between myself and my beloved could change that—at least, not in so short a span of time.

“Yes,” said Una, her voice suddenly sharp and crisp. “A Dunmer.”

The shop owner seemed to shake himself, though he couldn’t quite stop staring at me.

“I am… all astonishment! That is, the jarl may, of course… his choice is his own, but…” He shook his head again, turning to Una. “A _Dunmer_ , my lady? The jarl intends to marry a _Dunmer_?”

“Shall _I_ get the letter opener or shall _you_?” snapped Una.

“Oh!” he said, giving a jump. “Of course! My apologies, my lady. Just one moment.”

Una was livid—the way her lips pressed together and the slight flush that had come to her pale cheeks said as much. I could feel my own cheeks warming, though it wasn’t from anger. I just wanted to get this over with.

And yet, all of that seemed to fade away once I held the letter opener in my hands. I couldn’t help smiling as I ran my fingertips over the cool, smooth metal. It was so very fine, the carvings so meticulous and tiny—it was the loveliest thing I had ever held, or so I felt in that moment. The blue stone in the center truly was the exact shade of my lover’s eyes, and I thrilled to think of myself offering him such a gift: something so terribly fine and extravagant, yet something that I had seen with my own eyes and picked out, just for him. It, too, made me blush, though for far different (and pleasanter) reasons.

“How much is it?” I asked.

“They’ll send the bill to the palace,” said Una. “Don’t worry about it; we can have it sent to Jorleif or Mother so Uncle won’t know. Though I seriously doubt he even pays attention to such things.”

“I know,” I said. “But I still would like to know how much.”

“38 septims,” said the shopkeeper.

So much! I had never spent anything _near_ that amount in my entire life. Yet I knew that it was only a fraction of what I was allowed to spend each month, and that I rarely ever spent _any_ of the money that had been allocated to me.

“38 septims, _my lord_ ,” said Una.

I looked up in surprise. Una’s expression had become even more pinched. The shopkeeper looked as if he had bitten down on something sour, his own lips now pressing together, nostrils flaring.

“No, my lady,” he said, abruptly snatching the letter opener from me, “I’m sorry, but I cannot. I _cannot_ speak to a… a _gray-skin_ as if he were one of us! Why, just knowing that our great jarl soils his bed each night by lying with this—!!

“That’s _enough_!” said Una. “I hope you feel that strongly about your opinions in the weeks and months to come, because they’ll be the only things keeping you company! I’ll make sure that no one from _any_ of the great families ever shops here _again_. And I’ll make sure they know why, too!”

“My lady!” gasped the shopkeeper, his face paling. “Please, I—!

“Come on,” said Una, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away.

Outside, I hurried to keep up with her, and couldn’t help glancing back several times as we made our way hastily further and further away from the shop. I caught sight of the letter opener being set back on display in the window, and my throat even closed up a little bit—what was I to give him now? There were only a few days until the holiday and—it really _had_ been the perfect gift.

“Una, please,” I said, giving her my most beseeching look. “I don’t mind when people are like that; I really don’t. And I know it’s silly, but I _really_ wanted that letter open—

“Oh, Casien, STOP IT!”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face me—and startling me with the furious expression on her face. Even her gloved hands were bunched up into fists.

“People in this city treat you like… like _garbage!_ ” she spat. “And it isn’t right. It isn’t! You’re Uncle’s intended!! And even if you weren’t, that still doesn’t give them the right to treat you like that!”

I stood there, silently, for a few moments, blinking at her in shock. The snow had started to fall again, and I watched as it flurried between us. Others had stopped to stare at us as well, for we were in the middle of the walkway, and, well, Una’s voice had rather carried.

“… I’m sorry,” I finally said, swallowing.

Una sighed, her eyes briefly closing.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” she said. “What do _you_ have to be sorry about? Ugh.” She grabbed my arm then and continued leading me away from the shop. “Honestly, you have _got_ to stand up for yourself more. People who treat you like that— _they’re_ the ones who are garbage. And they _don’t_ deserve our patronage.”

“I know,” I said, trying not to let on how miserable I now felt. “It’s just—it really was the same color as his eyes.”

She groaned.

“Oh, _Casien_ ,” she said, but at least she didn’t chastise me any further.

//

That evening, just before dinner, there was a soft knock at the front door of the apartment. I had just finished bathing, so I wrapped a robe quickly around myself before going to answer it. A servant handed me a package before bowing; I thanked her, closing the door slowly while frowning down at the wrapped bundle in my other hand.

After a moment, I sat down on one of the sitting room sofas and began to unwrap it. Imagine my great surprise and delight when it revealed itself to be the pretty little letter opener! There was a note beside it, and it read as follows:

_I sent a guard back for this. You really do have the biggest, saddest eyes when you’re upset. No wonder you’ve got Uncle wrapped around your finger. This changes nothing, by the way. I’ll see that lousy bigoted shop owner run out of business before the beginning of the new year!_

_\--Una_

In the end, I was too excited to wait until Saturalia. I rewrapped the letter opener, and out of a sudden spurt of artistic silliness, even drew little hearts and flowers all over the brown paper packaging. _To Ulfric_ , I wrote in elegant lettering (or at least my best attempts at such). _Love, Casien_.

I was to have dinner in the apartment by myself that evening, for both my lover and Galmar had guests to see to downstairs. And Lia and most of her daughters chose to eat downstairs with the other noble families, too; I was naturally always invited to join them, but preferred not to. I was really only too happy to dine alone; if the king or his family weren’t with me, I didn’t really feel the need to share my evening with anyone else.

It was a very lengthy dinner, and my eyelids were half-drooping by the time he returned. I sat up with a quick inhale when I heard the front door open—I was in the sitting room again—and gazed up at him with sleepy confusion at first as he paused to remove his cloak, sword belt, and boots.

“Casien,” he said, frowning. “Is everything all right?”

He came to sit down beside me; I curled my legs inward, so that he could sit as close to me as possible. I ended up leaning against him, smiling when his arm seemed to wrap naturally around me.

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Here!” I plunked the package in his lap, clearly startling him. “Happy Saturalia!”

“…Saturalia is not for four days,” he said, frowning as he picked up the lumpy package.

“I know,” I said, “but I can’t wait till then. Open it now!”

He cast me an amused little look before doing so, withdrawing his arm from around my waist so he could use both hands. A giddy feeling of pleasure washed over me as the letter opener was revealed.

“A letter opener?” he asked, holding it up carefully.

“Yes,” I said, wriggling closer against him. “Yours is so old, and you’re always complaining about how dull it’s become. And look!” I pointed down at the pretty little stone. “It’s the same color as your eyes.”

He smiled, the expression just barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Is it?” he asked.

He turned to look at me. I smiled back at him.

“It is,” I said. “As soon as I saw it, I thought of you. Do you like it?”

“Very much,” he said, and a thrill of anticipation was already running through me, for those blue eyes of his had already dropped a little, presumably somewhere near the vicinity of my mouth. “Thank you.”

I closed the distance between us, kissing him before he could kiss me. It was only natural then, I suppose, that I should crawl into his lap, so that I could hug him with my whole body as I kissed him. His arms went around me—the letter opener presumably set aside—fingers resting against my back for a while before they began to roam, first sliding up under my tunic to tickle warmly against my bare skin, then dipping down lower, squeezing me, pressing me closer against him.

We were so terribly, silly in love. I honestly didn’t know if it was quite a normal thing or not—to make love every night the way we did, and sometimes even in the morning, too. Maybe it was because we had been separated from one another for so long, when both of us had been made to suffer doubt, for our relationship had been so fragile and new.

We were two people who probably should never have come together in the first place, yet here we were. And now, ever afterward, when I saw him using that fine little letter opener, I couldn’t help but think—not of the ugliness that had passed earlier in the day, but of the warmth in his eyes when I had given it to him, and the way his lips felt against mine, and the evening we had spent together in one another’s arms.

I figured I should leave that part out when I thanked Una afterward, and told her how much her uncle had liked his gift. But somehow, I think she knew.

 


	42. Casien 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: M (or soft E)
> 
> Time: About a year post-marriage. This occurs exactly two days after "Casien 2" and some time after "Casien 16"
> 
> Summary: _Two days ago, Ulfric returned home only to find his husband recovering from another deadly illness. Casien has been unwilling to admit he should have taken better care of himself. Their disagreement finally comes to a head._

I plopped down in one of the wooden chairs facing my husband’s desk, wrapped in nothing but a robe, my damp, curling hair tickling my neck. I didn’t expect him to look up from whatever it was he was writing, and so he didn’t. He certainly gave every indication of being utterly engrossed in his work, his pen ceaselessly scratching, forehead resting on the fingers of his free hand as he wrote.

“You’re still angry with me,” I said.

Nothing.

I sighed. He’d been pretending _not_ to be angry for the past two days. I supposed it was at least a step up from roaring at me like an angry bear, but at least that tended to be over and done with. I still didn’t think I was fully to blame for getting sick. These illnesses were like little insects, weren’t they? Or so we'd once learned in Professor Marence’s class. Only they were so tiny they couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. _That_ meant they could have been on anything—the towels the servant restocked in the washroom, for instance, or the plates and cutlery that had been brought in for my meals.

Not surprisingly, pointing this out hadn’t seemed to absolve me from my so-called sins.

“It’s very childish to ignore your own husband,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

“I am not ignoring you,” came the clipped response. “I am working.”

I huffed under my breath. After a moment, I slid a little forward in my chair, reaching out with my bare toe to poke his own foot under the desk. He moved his foot back.

I made a face at him. If he noticed, he gave no indication of it.

“If you think I’ve been bad, you should just tell me,” I finally said.

“I have not—

“After all,” I continued, “The last time I was bad, you seemed to think I needed to be disciplined.”

The pen stopped.

His eyes finally lifted to meet my own. 

“Endangering your own life is no laughing matter,” he said.

“I didn’t say it was,” I countered, suddenly annoyed--or maybe embarrassed that he hadn't taken the bait.

His lips pressed together then, his eyes narrowing and creasing at the corners. After a moment, he finally set down the pen, then carefully set aside the document he was working on before folding his own arms before him on the desk.

“What is this?” he finally asked, “You seem incapable of acknowledging your own foolhardiness, and so you seek to deflect by enticing me to—

But he seemed unable to go on. I don’t know why, but his occasional uncertainty always made my own blossom tenfold.

“Have sex with me?” I asked, ignoring the heat that had risen to my own checks. “Yes. Is that so bad?”

“I have hardly avoided you in that regard since my return,” he countered. “ _Yes_. I am angry. I am angry that I could have lost you, _again_. That does not mean my—affection for you is in any way diminished. I believe I have proven as much.”

I sighed, exasperated.

“Will it help if I say I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry.” I stood up, holding my arms out. “Look at me. I’m practically _begging_ you to make love to me. Are you going to keep growling and snarling at me or are you going to stop pretending like you have to finish that letter or else all of Skyrim will come crashing down around our heels?”

He leaned back, his eyes narrowing up at me.

“Oh? And what else am I to do if I do not to finish this letter.”

I blinked.

“I _just_ said—

That’s when I realized he was doing something he hadn’t done since he’d been back.

He was smiling.

I glared at him.

“Ha, ha,” I said. “All right, you won. I said I was sorry.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Though I am not entirely convinced of the sincerity of an apology so hastily given.”

“Impossible old bear,” I muttered. “Fine. Then I take back my apology.”

“That is unfortunate.”

After a moment, he pushed back his chair before slowly rising to his feet.

“Then it would appear that we are back where we started,” he said. “And perhaps you are right.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps discipline _is_ the only answer.”

The giddy feeling that came over me was almost instantaneous. I felt myself flushing and tried not to smile, instead biting down on the inside of my cheek.

“Maybe,” I said. “What would you have me do?”

“I would have you remove that robe and await me in the bedroom.”

I gasped, half-choking on the laugh that suddenly sputtered out of me.

“I wasn’t _that_ bad!” I said, but he only arched an eyebrow at me.

I swallowed and cleared my throat.

“Counterpoint,” I said.

“There is no counterpoint,” he said, beginning to walk around the desk to meet me.

“Yes, there is,” I said, backing up. “You have to catch me.”

He paused, our eyes locking and holding. Then, without warning, he reached out for me as though to grab me.

I jumped back, laughing, almost tripping over the chair I’d been sitting in. He made another grab for me, but this time I turned tail and ran.

I had no plan in mind whatsoever; I only checked to make sure he was following. He was, albeit slowly. I disappeared into the bedroom, then, which I suppose wasn’t the best strategy, considering that’s where he’d ordered me to go anyway. I hurried to the far side of the bed, turning to face the door again, just as he entered. He made his way towards me with seeming purpose, his eyes never leaving my own.

I backed up against an armoire, my fingers grasping and squeezing the knobs absently.

“You’re too slow,” I said, trying not to smile. “You may be a great warrior, but you move like an old bear.”

“A little roebuck may only run until he tires,” he replied. “Then the old bear shall have his fill.”

I laughed, and just before he was upon me, I pushed myself away from the armoire and leapt onto the bed. Yet I didn’t crawl or try to entice him in any way, which I’m sure is exactly what he expected. Instead I bounced and ran across it as swiftly as I could, stumbling as I landed on my feet on the other side, and—

By the Three, he was fast. He was already there. Somehow, I managed to dodge him yet again, this time running back the way I’d come, past the study, through the sitting room, and—

“Casien!” he called, his steps now hurrying after me.

“What?” I asked.

I turned to face him again, my hand on the doorknob.

“Do not go out there,” he ordered. “You are not dressed prop—

But instead of letting him finish, I stuck my tongue out at him, opened the door, and slipped outside.

I barely managed to escape him _again_. I felt his hand grasp a portion of the robe, but as I was now outside (with the guard stationed there looking down at me in surprise)—he had to let go, for pulling the robe too hard could have led to fairly disastrous results. I took the opportunity to run again, laughing when he called after me once more.

I had no idea where I was going, but I honestly didn’t care. I nearly bumped into a surprised servant.

“Sorry!” I cried before slipping inside the nearest open door, which happened to be the family dining room.

“Casien!” said Hellina, for she and Una were still sitting at the table, sipping tea.

“Hello!” I said, then quickly dashed behind her, putting the rather sizable dining room table between myself and my husband, who proceeded to enter the room.

“Um,” said Una, “Do I want to know what’s going on?”

“I’m in trouble,” I said.

“You will return to our bedroom,” he said, frowning at me, though the expression was somewhat minimized by the blush creeping up through his beard. “At once.”

“Oh, gods,” said Una. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

“Casien may be your husband, my lord,” said Hellina, smiling, and clearly getting into the spirit of things. “But he is not yours to command, not even to your bed.”

By now he surely realized he’d said _bedroom_ instead of something more innocuous. His eyes widened, and the blush became more visible. I laughed.

“Thank the Nine Father isn’t here to see this,” muttered Una.

“Or Ania,” agreed Hellina.

This time he made no pretense of taking his time. He lunged, moving swiftly around the table; I laughed again, slid over the top of the table and raced out of the room and into the next.

It was the sitting room. I heard him racing after me. I leapt over a sofa, ignoring a startled Lia, who was holding a sleeping baby Emrik in her arms.

“Ulfric!” I heard her cry. “What on Nirn…!”

Back out into the hallway, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone. The guard and servants I passed were now openly grinning. ‘Help!’ I cried to one, laughing when she feigned dropping her heavy basket of laundry, sighing, ‘Oh dear!’ as the contents spilled out all over the hallway.

I dashed towards the main exit. Glancing behind me, I still didn’t see anyone but the servant, now bending to pick up her spilled laundry. Grinning, I faced forward again, rounded the corner that would take me towards the main stairs leading down to the second floor—and was immediately swept up into the arms of my husband.

“No!!” I cried, but he ignored me, tossing me over his shoulder and resting a hand on my bottom to steady me. Immediately, my entire face went red, for the robe wasn’t _that_ long, and he was heading back the way I had just come.

“Ulfric!” I hissed. “I’m not wearing any smallclothes!”

He hummed under his breath but made no move to put me down. I suppose deep down I knew he’d never allow me to flash the entire household, but still. We passed servants now doing their very best to hide their laughter behind their hands before finally returning to the apartment. I closed my eyes, unable to face the guard still standing there, and didn’t reopen them until the door was closed again.

I thought I was to be finally set down once we reached the bedroom, but no. Instead, _he_ sat down, only with me still flung over his shoulder. I leaned forward, reaching down to grasp the bed coverings and pull myself away, but his arm around me tightened immediately. I was stuck.

“All right,” I said, giving up with a huff. “You won. Now let me down.”

“I think not,” came the mild reply.

The arm around my hips shifted so that he now grasped me by the back of my thighs. His other hand came up then, fingers sliding up one thigh—and pushing the bottom of the robe back, leaving me fully exposed.

I went still, my eyes going wide.

“I believe I was promised the opportunity to discipline you,” he said. 

“Oh,” I said.

I hadn't really been expecting that he would go through with it, but I suppose I shouldn't have underestimated him. I gripped the back of his tunic in anticipation, but it wasn't enough. The hand that smacked my rump came down rather hard; I yelped and gave a little jerk. He _knew_ how much I liked this, damn him, and he was drawing it out, just as he had last time. 

Of course, once these so-called _disciplinary measures_ were concluded--well, the sting was pleasant, but it still stung, so now he offered to bathe the area in kisses, which is by far the most embarrassing thing he ever tried to do to me in bed. I usually insisted that he refrain from doing so, but I was too weak at present. I submitted.

It felt so good I had to bury my hot face in the bed covers to hide my pleasure.

I confess it didn’t take long for me to beg him to stop for a different reason—I wanted him inside me now rather badly. He obliged me, and, considering the noises I’d just been making, it was probably quite silly for me to be self-conscious about the moans and cries that began to slip out of me as our lovemaking commenced.

He was always very thorough—very attentive—when we made love, and this time was no exception. All pretense between us seemed to drop; I said that I wished for us to face one another again, and he obliged me, pausing so that we could resituate ourselves. I held onto him as we made love, closing my eyes and feeling myself melt into the mattress beneath me. When I came, it was with a gasp and a soft groan, my fingertips digging into his skin. It didn’t take long for him to follow.

Afterward, we commenced with the usual cuddling, only this time there was just something rather special about the way I curled myself around him, the way his arm then wrapped loosely around me, fingertips tickling over the warm skin of my back.

“You really were mad at me,” I said—which was frankly unfair of me, because he already had confessed as much.

“And this has upset you,” he said, rather than answer the question. At least his fingers continued to lightly stroke my back.

“I don’t like it when we argue,” I admitted. “Even if it’s usually my fault.”

He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Then I suggest you either learn to act less recklessly—or else learn to live with my temper.”

“How is that fair?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Either I change or I don’t, but you get to stay the same.”

“You cannot teach foolish old bears new tricks.” He gave me a light squeeze. “Silly little roebucks, however…”

I huffed, but I was suddenly too sleepy and too content to truly protest.

“It isn’t nice to call your husband ‘silly’,” I chastised, letting my eyes slide closed.

“Duly noted,” came the warm reply. 

I was already half-asleep when I felt the warm press of his lips against my forehead. I smiled, and let myself drift off, content with the knowledge that he would be beside me—tonight, tomorrow, and every night afterward.


	43. Casien 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Time: A few years or so post-marriage.
> 
> Summary: _From a prompt: Ulfric has trouble sleeping due to nightmares._

I awoke to searing pain in my right arm.

It brought me abruptly out of sleep, my eye flying open in the darkness as full awareness rapidly returned to me.

“No, no, no, no, no, **_No_**!” whispered my husband’s voice.

“Ulfric!” I hissed.

I twisted around as best I could, but his grip on my arm was like iron. I patted his bare chest with my hand, then his cheek. His face was clammy to the touch.

“NO!” he cried, his chest heaving now. “You cannot. You cannot—You can ** _not_** —!”

He seemed to spasm, his hand around my arm doing the same. I didn’t cry out, but the pain brought tears to my eyes. At this rate he was going to do me serious harm.

“Ulfric, wake _up_!” I pleaded.

“No, no, no,” he whispered. 

I pinched his side—hard. I didn’t let go, even though I knew it would probably bruise horribly. Finally, he came awake with a gasp, his eyes fluttering open, chest still heaving as he gaped up at me. The grip on my arm went mercifully slack. But now his arms flew around me, squeezing, pulling me close, and I felt his face press against the side of my own as he began to weep.

He had me clasped so closely to him I couldn’t comfort him. All I could do was let him hold me, and hope my physical presence alone would chase away the remnants of his nightmare.

Finally, his arms around me loosened. It was enough for me to lift my head and pull my arms back up to my sides so that I could stroke his cheek. I kissed him, too; I felt his lips barely press to meet my own. He was exhausted.

“Do you want me to get some tea?” I asked.

“Yes,” came the hoarse reply.

I eased myself out of his embrace then, pausing to wrap myself in a robe before going to kneel before the fire and prepare the tea the healer had given us. We kept a kettle full of water just in case, so all I had to do was put it on the fire. While I was busy with this, it gave him time to calm and collect himself, to reorient himself to his surroundings. It was a familiar routine.

I returned with the steaming herbal mixture, pressing the cup into his hands as I slid back under the covers. We were both sitting up now, and I curled against him, wrapping my hands around his arm, resting my cheek on his shoulder.

“Do you remember it?” I asked, after a few quiet minutes had passed between us.

“A little,” he said.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. We had found that speaking the horrors aloud somehow seemed to put them to rest—often they were so bizarre, so absurd, that clearer heads could discern how impossible the scenarios were. I suspected the ones he _didn’t_ wish to talk about were all too plausible.

“No,” he said. “I’m afraid I cannot.”

He finished the tea, then I bid him to lie back down again. I lay beside him, though I propped myself up on one elbow so I could stroke my fingers through his hair.

He sighed. The tea worked very quickly.

“Will you sing for me?”

He had a way of making a question sound like a command. It always made me smile.

“What would you like me to sing?” 

“Anything.”

Of course I knew what would please him most. I sang him the lullaby, the one which had apparently so captured his heart when we’d first met—to the extent that he still referred to me as his ‘heart.’ _I carry your heart with me, my love… wherever you go, I go… Here is the secret nobody knows, I carry your heart with me; wherever you go, I go…_

I kept singing, though he fell asleep almost instantly. Afterward, I pressed a kiss to his forehead and wrapped myself around him. He would sleep deeply for the remainder of the night, and perhaps long into the morning. Any important meetings would have to be rescheduled, but he and Jorleif had gotten into the habit of not scheduling anything _truly_ important before noon.

The following morning, I awoke at my usual hour. I pulled a robe on and informed the guard at the door that we would be having a late breakfast. Then I found a book and went back to bed.

I’m not sure how long he was awake before I realized he was looking at me. I put my book down and chastised him for staring and not saying anything. He said he couldn’t speak, for the sight of me in the morning sunlight had stolen the breath from his lungs.

Well, I couldn’t let him get away with spouting _that_ sort of nonsense. I put my book aside and kissed him, and soon I was on top of him, and his hands reached up to push the robe from my shoulders.

And he saw the bruise on my arm.

He touched my skin with trembling fingers. I wrapped mine around his and smiled at him.

“I love you,” I said.

I leaned down and kissed him. I felt his arms wrap gradually around me and smiled against his lips. The kiss grew ardent, as it often did, and I let him reverse our positions so that he covered my body with his own. We made love in the warm light of the Last Seed sun streaming in through the windows. We were both late for our respective appointments, and we did not regret it.


	44. Casien 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ulfric Stormcloak x Casien Yedlin
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Time: The day after their wedding.
> 
> Summary: _From a prompt: Casien doesn't want Ulfric to leave the morning after their wedding._

“Can’t you stay…?”

Ulfric went still as a pair of soft, slim arms wrapped around his middle. Heat pressed gently against his back, and he realized, with some amusement, that the person behind him was standing on his toes, for there was also a cheek resting against his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and took a quiet, steady breath.

“You know I cannot,” he said.

He lay his hand over the ones around his waist for a moment before turning to face him—his new husband. Heavy-lidded, warm brown eyes gazed up at him from a round face, framed by messy, curling black hair. The cheeks were flushed with sleepy anticipation, making the freckles stand out even more.

He very carefully did not allow his own gaze to stray downward, over his beloved’s naked body.

“Stay,” Casien insisted, though there was little authority behind the command. He even lowered his eyes and seemed to smile, as though afraid of angering him.

Ulfric nearly lowered his lips to his lover’s—his _husband’s_ , he reminded himself, the thought causing a flush of joy to wash over his own body—but he didn’t.

“I was away all day yesterday,” he reminded him. He allowed one hand to come up, to cup one warm, round cheek. “I promise I will return soon.”

There was the pout—he’d been expecting it. It was an expression he’d come to adore, even as it so often annoyed him, for Casien could be stubborn, and when he failed to win an argument, he made his displeasure as obvious as possible.

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” he complained—Ulfric was confident he hadn’t the slightest notion of how much his voice pitched forward when he was upset—how much he _whined_.

“Visit your friends?” he suggested. “We will be leaving Whiterun soon, after all, and you will not see them again for some time.”

“I didn’t just get married to my _friends_ ,” came the huffy response, and he couldn’t help chuckling. That naturally earned him a frown.

“Then stay here,” he murmured. He couldn’t allow his arm to wrap around his husband’s waist, or else he’d never leave. But he dipped his head, their faces so close he could hear Casien’s sharp intake of breath. “Wait for me. Like this…”

It was an agony not to touch him—not to tickle his fingers up that warm, naked back, not to brush his lips against his beloved’s. But if he gave in to temptation, he would never leave this room. And it wasn’t so much the necessity or importance of the meeting he had scheduled so much as it was the looks of pity and amusement he would be greeted with if he _did_ give in.

But it was tempting. More tempting than his softly panting husband would ever know.

//

“Surprised you made it,” said Galmar.

Ulfric only shot him an annoyed look. Galmar responded with the expected snort of amusement, and together they made their way down the hallway and toward the designated meeting room.

It _was_ an important meeting. But it was one that was sure to cause a headache to spring up and pound itself between his eyes after more than five minutes, for it involved Dengeir and his brother. Olfina Gray-Mane was there as well, and he hoped he could count on her levelheadedness.

It involved defenses against potential Imperial invasion from the south, and Dengeir did not like being dictated to by a man some twenty years his junior. Ulfric was not used to having his authority questioned, and several times he nearly stood up and threatened the man—yet, unbidden, his thoughts would return to the image of his husband, waiting for him in their apartment here at Dragonsreach.  

A sharp elbow to the side made him start, and he glanced at Galmar. That’s when he realized he had no idea what the others were discussing.

“…Perhaps you’d like some coffee, my lord?” said Olfina, forgetting, as usual, that she needn’t address him some formally.

“Yes,” he said, frowning and rubbing at his forehead. “My apologies. I find myself distracted this morning.”

“I’d imagine so,” said Thadgeir, huffing and sharing an amused look with his brother.

Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the both of them—but then he noticed Olfina attempting to hide her smile behind her hand, too.

And there it was again—that image in his head. Casien, lying in their bed, the bedcovers disheveled around him, his naked body on display… now smiling up at him, curling up onto his side and resting his cheek against one hand, further tousling his wild, dark hair.

He was on his feet before he even knew what he was doing.

“Excuse me,” he said.

He ignored the amused looks and stifled snorts as he made his way out of the room. Back down the hallway he and Galmar had come down, up the stairs, passing guards and servants and guests without truly seeing them. There was the doorway to their rooms at the end of the hallway. The guard stationed there looked surprised to see him returning so soon. He ignored her.

He opened the door.

Casien was back in bed. He was leaning against the headboard, his knees somewhat drawn up, a book in his hands. The bedcovers were only partially pulled up; the fire was nearly dead, but the room was still comfortably warm.

He was still naked.

Ulfric walked towards him. His hands absently fumbled with and tugged at the swordbelt around his waist. It fell to the floor. Casien’s eyes widened; he set the book aside, a mischievous smile curling onto his adorable face.

The next second they were in each other’s arms. Ulfric couldn’t help the groan of pleasure that fell from his lips as he finally pressed them against his husband’s. He devoured those soft, full lips, plunging his tongue into willing depths, sucking, nibbling… trailing his own lips down his beloved’s jaw and over his neck, making him moan. Beneath him, Casien went pliant, as he always did. Ulfric could have wished in his youth for a lover who might tear as his clothes, demand his attention, run his fingers through his hair, but this… acceptance, anticipation, _trust_ … it spiked his desire and his longing to almost unbearable heights.

He rarely spoke his feelings aloud. Instead, he told him as he bathed his skin in warm, ardent kisses. He told him as he ran his rough palm gently but firmly over a soft thigh, his fingers gripping into warm flesh, inducing a surprisingly strong pair of legs to wrap around his waist. Being inside him… it was more than just sex; it was the manifestation of his love, the way he told him softly, but with increasing urgency, _I belong to you and only you._

Afterward—curled up on one side of the bed, for he’d gotten clumsy with the oil in their mutual eagerness, and the sheets would have to be changed—he found his heart surprisingly devoid of guilt. He couldn’t even manage to summon the barest hint of anxiety at being smirked, laughed, or sneered at by Galmar or anyone else for that matter.

He was simply… happy.

It was a strange feeling, one he felt he would have chased in his younger years, but now he was content to bask in it—to bask in the embrace of the person he had given himself to so completely.

Beside him (half on top of him, truthfully), Casien wiggled slightly, edging himself forward until he could press a happy kiss to his shoulder before nuzzling his face against his own.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, somehow managing to snuggle even closer.

Ulfric hummed his agreement.

He knew, in his heart, that he would be understood.

 


End file.
